#he’ll ask a thousand times if he has to

[animalsalvationassociation]

[ DO NOT REPOST, ALL ART & CONCEPTS WERE MADE BY ME ]

Nanouk Alexander Magnusson

Species: St. Bernard / Burnese Mountain Dog Mix

Accent: Scottish (Born & Raised — Swiss Blood)

Role:

Former Agent of the International Bureau of Defense, Atlas (Undercover Department, Medic)

Body Guard (Hired by Prof. Kelp to protect Y.N. & Fale Palace)

Resident Sweetheart (cough cough—husband—cough cough)

Relations:

Eden & Anders (Mother & Father)

Y.N. & Fale (Childhood Friends)

Sean (Best Mate / Army Friends)

Mallory, Casey, Annie (Old Army Friends)

Cardimon Gupata (Former Boss)

Saídê of the Palace (Mentor, Father Figure)

Personality:

The biggest teddy bear you ever did see! — Aside from Barnacles that is.

He’s got the same problem of “too big, looks mean” when he really just has a resting face that cuts through all the bull.

Genuinely the gentlest of creatures to ever exist

(My husbandddd)

The most gentlemanly gentleman who’s ever gentlemaned!!!

Translation: He’d treat you right! 👏👏👏

He’s very calculated in what he does, but very quick about those calculations.

He’s used to the pace of a field medic. On his toes at all times.

Sometimes that makes him seem a little anxious.

He just wants to fix things immediately, but has to remind himself that he’s not in the army anymore and most issues are pretty low key.

However he’s always prepared bro. This man has Mary Poppins’ bag in his back pocket.

The Sherlock of the medical field.

You don’t look well and you won’t tell me what’s wrong . . . So either I have to force you to tell me or spend twenty hours researching how to help you.

Would dedicate all the time just to make sure that your “symptoms” aren’t just habits of your species.

“I’m Nanouk, I help any creature who’s hurt or sick—who wrote this?”

(Pfftttt)

Huge bookworm. Loves anything with history in it, dabbles in a bit of everything. Romance, Fantasy, Thriller, you name it I’m sure he’s at least heard of it.

Loves his nature walks.

Likes to journal, especially while he’s out and about.

He really is the kind of man who would press flowers/leaves into a book and then draw something BEAUTIFUL beside it.

Has a whole shelf just for his journals.

He’s never written stories but I don’t think he’s mind trying it out. He’s more of a poems guy. (All the power to him cause I sure can’t write them)

A man of culture!

A man who would read/recite Jane Austen like it was the Bible.

A man who advocates for women’s rights without “sacrificing” his masculinity!!!

Cares deeply for his friends and family. He’s a community man, grew up in a place where the “village” was his safe place. He’d do anything for them.

(That includes the Palace Clan)

He’s such a sweetheart — people really underestimate how willing he is to protect the people he loves.

Maybe he doesn’t understand your joke but he’ll at least give it a chuckle.

He’s too nice to tell you that he doesn’t get it, or it isn’t funny.

I believe my boss described him as: “Y’know those trees that live for thousands of years, like they’re massive? — This man is a lumberjack, like you have to climbthose branches!”

(I’m crying bro X,D)

Aloof? Mysterious?~ Nah, he just doesn’t have much to say.

He’ll tell you if you just ask, but most people are too afraid to talk to him so he doesn’t bother.

Again, his “grumpy” face really is just his resting face. Like you’ll know if he’s upset, but it usually takes time to get him really riled up. (And he’s pretty good at hiding his facial expressions)

Please don’t lol, he might be a medic but just like Peso, he’d rock your world if you messed with him the wrong way.

Stay safe out there friends and don’t mess with gentle giants. You may not survive (lol)

@calamaroo (IT’S NANNNNN—IT’S NANOUKKK)

@the-albaon-things / @presentmacandcheese (>:3)

[ This is a Octonauts AU, in no way is this canon to the OG storyline. ]

[diristine]

HC ASK

hey so I’m feeling emotional today do you got any angst hcs about glass or clef.

Clears throat.

I just got off of work and am tired as hell, you couldnt have chosen a better time for this.

Simon blames himself for his sister’s death and cousin’s disappearance. Its why he cant bring himself to leave the Foundation, he’s convinced if he leaves everyone will disappear and he’ll be alone again.

When Simon became Shard, he continued to mourn his targets no matter how bad they were. In fact, it got to the point he began separating himself from Shard. Shard was the killer, not Simon. Shard was the one who ended those lives, not Simon. Simon has never killed anyone ever!!

He’s borderline suicidal, if it weren’t for promises he’s made to himself he wouldn’t be around. Or at least would have attempted, unfortunately the only people he would worry about when he’s gone is Mr. Mittens and Agent Lucky.

Clef sometimes reality bends on accident during nightmares, to the point he wakes up and his room is flooded with boiling water and he swears he sees thousands of eyes watching him. Those familiar, beautiful, deadly eyes. He doesn’t sleep much anymore.

Humanoid anomalies have their item number tattooed on the back of their neck. Just…think about it.

Clef brought Simon back from the dead sure, but he’s convinced hes tainted the kid. He hates himself for tainting Simon, turning him into the plaything he used to be. But…he can’t bring himself to let Simon return to his corpse state. If it wasn’t for Clef, Simon’s soul wouldn’t be in that body of his.

Simon’s family thinks hes legally dead, sometimes he visits the family gravesite and leaves flowers at Skylar’s grave as he looks at his own headstone. He has no home to return to. He hates it.

People tend to forget Simon’s birthday, or existence. Especially at work, sometimes if theres no evaluations scheduled that week, he only sees agent Lucky. He’s never felt so alone. So if they forget his birthday? He just…makes sure to remember everyone else’s.

Clef was/still is experimented on. What can he say? No? Theyll just threaten him with Meri and Simon. Don’t ask about his scars.

Simon can’t get therapy, the O5s wont let him. So he copes with other means, even if he would tell his patients to do more healthy things. It never applies to him. Ever.

Sometimes Clef grows antlers. He hates them.

[peanutposting]

give right now

Hand it over

[humanjarvis]

lads LIs when you're sensitive to noise

xavier:

since he lives upstairs, he teleports around his apartment on busy days so his footsteps don’t bother you

he is the anonymous noise complaint demon in your complex. if something bothers you, he’s reporting it. and if your landlord doesn't do anything about it, he torments the offending tenants with blinding flashes of light every time they blast music at 1 am until they stop

let’s say your in-unit washer is really loud during the spin cycle. well, he comes over to sit with you until your laundry is finished. lets you use him as a stress ball so you don’t panic

orders you matching fuzzy earmuffs. they have bunny ears 

if you’re eating at a loud restaurant—maybe some guests are celebrating a birthday or a graduation—he asks to be moved to a quieter section

zayne:

lets you hide out in his office when you’re overwhelmed: you lie on the sofa with the lights off while he's seeing patients 

looks up expected noise levels, sensory guides, and accommodations in advance before you visit a new place

scarily mindful of his chewing. if you don’t like chewing sounds he makes his almost imperceptible when you eat together. you wonder if his jaw is even moving

researches your sensitivity and symptoms, consults his specialist colleagues about the details (keeping your identity a secret, of course #HIPAA)

comforts you whenever you feel like an inconvenience, holding you close and reminding you that you are not your condition—“don’t blame yourself for something you can’t control” (you’re one to talk, elsa)

sylus: 

the gun silencer stays ON when he’s around you 

when you arrive at the base one day and open the door, a legion of construction workers comes out. when you inevitably ask “hey sylus? um. wtf?” he leads you down the hallway and boom. soundproof paneling in all your favorite rooms

will put one of his precious vinyls on pause if you come to cuddle with him and get overstimulated from the sound

mephisto taps on your door one day. he is there to drop off 3 different pairs of thousand-dollar noise cancelling headphones 

if his men are working on a loud project while you’re with him, he’ll supervise through his cameras instead of in person. he’ll take you to a different room and hum to you to drown out the noise

rafayel:

i have decided that rafayel uses echolocation at times since his eyesight is bad. when he’s stumbling around his studio at midnight, he’ll make some sharp noises to help him find his way in the dark—a clap or a stomp of his foot. BUT when you’re around he switches to quieter alternatives—a snap of his fingers or a click of the tongue

will Always ask for accommodations at the museums and galleries you visit. might get pissy about it if they’re inadequate 

after seeing how your sensitivity affects you, he sets up a charity so a percentage of the proceeds from his exhibitions go to sensory disorder research and accommodations

won’t hesitate to ditch a showcase if you get overwhelmed and need to leave early 

if you’re at the movies or a play or anything that has an audience he will straight up ask people around you to be quiet. and somehow with this guy’s charm and allure it always works. no issue

caleb:

fixes up your childhood white noise machine and regifts it to you for your birthday

he’s like a bodyguard, ushering you out of loud areas when you’re in public. he’ll even put his hands over your ears to muffle the noise, no matter how silly it looks

when you text him that you’re overwhelmed or have had a bad day, he’ll prep your room so you can collapse in peace when you get home: he turns the lights off, sets out your favorite snacks, puts freshly washed blankets on the bed, and has the white noise machine going near max volume. basically makes your own sensory room for you to hide in until you’re feeling better

thunder’s too loud? he’s there. wraps his strong arms around you like a weighted blanket and distracts you with memories and stories until the storm has passed 

has a notebook solely for keeping track of your trigger sounds

if anyone at work or school mocks or questions your sensitivity, he finds a reason for The Colonel to pay them a visit and scares them out of their wits

[malum-forev]

Eyes, They Never Lie

Summary: Sam and Bucky try to recruit (Y/N), Bucky's ex and a former Avenger who has left that life behind. But they realize her life has changed completely once they meet a her daughter with striking blue eyes.

Pairings: Bucky x Former!Avenger!Reader

“They want me to assemble a group,” Sam takes a long sip of his beer, thinking that it’ll do something to ease his mind. “The New Avengers.”

Bucky lets out a low whistle.

“I know.” Sam mutters. So far, it’s Captain America and the Falcon, but other than that, he’s completely lost. “Back when Steve was here, there was a place for us to go. We could aspire to one day go into the compound and train, but now, anyone who is willing to be part of the team is scattered all around the world.”

Bucky hasn’t said anything, not because he doesn’t know how to help his friend but because he’s so lost in his own journey. Running for congress sounded like a good idea, until he started dealing with the political world. So much bureaucracy, so many people wanting to fatten their wallets. And not enough actual helping.

“You got any ideas?” Sam asks, bringing him out of his mind.

But Bucky just hums, because the idea he does have is crazy.

“C’mon I know that being a silent watcher is your whole deal but I need some help over here. How the hell am I going to build a team from zero?”

Bucky finishes his drink, as if that’s going to help jumpstart his confidence. “Are you looking for fresh meat? Or do you got space for an old timer?”

Sam’s eyes widen. “I thought all your fighting days were behind you.”

“I want out,” Bucky loosens the tie on his neck. “I want to go out on the field again. Really help.”

Sam runs a hand down his face, there’s hesitation in the way he looks at Bucky. 

“Unless…” Bucky gulps. “Unless I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“No, no.” Sam places a hand on his shoulder. “I just need to tell you something before you say yes to this-“

“What is it?”

“I was-uh-“ Sam looks up at the screen above them, not wanting to look at his friend in the eye when he says it. “I was gonna ask her to join, too.”

“Oh,” Bucky can’t help but think back to when you were his, at least for a moment. Every time he thinks about being happy, you’re right there next to him. 

You were the first woman he was actually interested in. He spent years wasting time with thousands of women, letting them in his apartment but never into his heart. But your eyes reeled him in from the moment you started as an agent. Steve would always tease Bucky, saying he’d have to see you fall in love with someone else if he didn’t ask you out. 

Those were the best years of his life. No doubt.

Until you left. You retired, and wanted nothing to do with him. And all the love you had seemed to evaporate from one day to the next.

But Bucky? He was still waiting for you to come back. 

“I-I thought she disappeared, retired.” Bucky stutters at your memory. 

“I found out where she lives now. And I planned on talking her into the group.” Sam looks down at the beer in his hand.

“I’m in.” Bucky says, but he’ll never be sure if he accepted because he wanted out of the political world or if he wanted another glimpse of you. 

-------

“The house is supposed to be up the road.” Sam mutters, trying to find cel reception. But the two of them were so deep into the woods, it was almost impossible. 

Bucky had always imagined you’d end up like this. Off the grid, living off your land. But in the dream, the two of you would be together. He’d spend the day cutting wood and harvesting whatever you’d grown, and you’d be deep into a hobby, spending your nights recounting your wild life. 

They see an opening up the road, but as they come closer, their eyebrows knit together.

“This can’t be it.” Sam says under his breath.

A huge cabin, surrounded by pine trees, is the only thing around. There’s a big tree at the front of the cabin, with a tree house on one of its branches. A glittery pink bike on the lawn along with a replica of Mjolnir next to it.

Sam parks his truck and they both step out cautiously. Bucky looks around, wondering how the woman who used to scream at the sight of a spider could live here, all alone.

As they come closer to the front door, they hear rustling from the tree house.

Bucky nudges his friend’s shoulder. “There’s someone over here.” 

Sam’s head whips just enough to see a pair of binoculars looking at them from the wooden window. 

“Hello?” He calls out but there’s no answer.

“Do you live here?” Bucky asks, only to be slapped on the chest by his friend.

“You can’t ask that! It’s creepy!”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “How else am I supposed to get an answer if I don’t ask a question?” 

But there's no response from the person inside the tree house. Instead, there's clanking and banging and before they even realize it, there's a little girl pointing a bow and arrow directly at them.

"State your name! Now!" She tries to look menacing but her outfit is too much for the two men to handle. Sky blue rain boots with a purple tutu, a Def Leppard t-shirt and heart shaped sunglasses.

"Oh my god." Sam immediately melts. "Aren't you the cutest little thing I've ever seen."

But the little girl doesn't fall for the Captain's words, she points the arrow directly at Sam. "Don't make me repeat my question, I know how to use this."

"Do you live with an adult? Your aunt, maybe?" Bucky's throat dries up as he asks the question. He knew you had siblings before you went into the crazy line of work that were the Avengers, and he begged that the little girl before him was theirs.

Bucky spent hours thinking about you on the way here. He'd been dreaming of seeing you again, thinking of what must have changed and what stayed the same. But he never thought there was a possibility you had moved on.

"Is your-" Bucky clears his throat. "Is your dad home?"

Sam eyes his partner. "Smooth."

The little girl walks backwards until her back bumps into the cabin's front door. "I'll call my daddy."

Bucky's heart stops. After years, he was still thinking of you whenever his eyes closed, and you, you were completely over him. Started a family with someone else.

"I'm sorry, Buck." Sam pats his back, immediately noticing the shift in his friend's eyes.

"S'okay." Bucky mutters, grinding his combat boot into the ground. "I'm not here for her, I'm here to assemble the team."

"I know, but-"

"I said I'm fine." Bucky snaps, running a hand through his shorter hair.

You'd begged him, for years, to cut his hair.

"I love your long hair," you'd once murmured against his lips. "But I also love how you looked during the Howling Commandos era."

"Era? You're making me sound more old than I am." Bucky smiled against your lips.

"I'm just saying, you could shorten it." Whenever you looked into his eyes, it made him feel like he was the only thing in the world.

"I thought you liked pulling my hair." Bucky flipped you on the bed, taking in your bubbling laughter.

The creaking sound of the cabin door brought him back to now. Bucky sucks in air, preparing to meet the man who is apparently so incredible that you decided to drop everything to be with him.

He has to be at last six feet. Well I'm 6 foot 1, on a good day. Bucky responds to his own thoughts. And he must be jacked. Not as jacked as me, I'm the fucking Winter Soldier for fucks sake! He must love her. Well I, I've loved her every day since I met her.

It feels like it takes hours for this mystery man to come out. The door opens slowly, only to reveal... You.

Bucky's knees buckle as your eyes meet his. You hadn't changed a lick, and if he didn't know better, he'd think that you were still his. Bucky's hands ball into fists at his side, needing a physical reminder to not reach out and hold you. Beg for your kisses. Tell you he doesn't care that you left, just as long as you take him back.

"Sam? Bucky?" Your voice trembles. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

The little girl pokes her head from behind your legs. "Mommy!"

"Mommy?" Sam and Bucky shriek at the same time.

"Attack them! Take them down!" Your daughter laughs.

"Young lady!" You scold.

But the little girl interrupts you, raising a chubby hand to stop your words. "I've already told you my name is Tashi Romanoff."

"Tashi, please, go upstairs and play. I need to talk to them for a moment. In private." You enunciate your last two words, knowing they were her least favorite words in the world.

"Fine," she huffs, turning on her heels. But not before taking off her rain boots and heart shaped sunglasses to reveal a pair of striking eyes. Clear blue with a steel ring surrounding her iris. Bucky's brows furrow as he catches a glimpse of Tashi's eyes, almost the same exact shade as the one he sports.

"W-wai-She's-" Bucky stutters out, not being able to comprehend what just happened.

"Tashi, huh?" Sam raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah, she’s going through a phase where she refuses to be called by her name," you close the door behind you. "Auntie Nat came to visit us during the blip and she just latched on to her."

"W-was her dad blipped?" Bucky tries to act normal but his heart is beating out of his chest.

"Her dad isn't in the picture." You cross your arms. "She was a surprise."

"So-uh-so that means." Bucky points between him and the house. Not being able to get the words out. "There's no way that."

"She's not yours, Barnes." You roll your eyes at your ex boyfriend.

"But she-her eyes." He blinks.

"There are a lot of guys with blue eyes out there." You let out a light laugh. It was strangely easy for you to slip into how things were, teasing and sharing laughs was the base of your relationship with Bucky. But now, so much time has passed, and you're definitely not the same person you were back then.

"What are you guys doing here?" You look down at the floor as you ask the question.

"Someone out there has created a mind controlling substance that puts everyone in danger. And we need to stop him. We found his lab and we got some of the vials but we need your help taking him down." Sam says but you're shaking your head before he even has time to finish. "I want to form a group. The world needs us again."

"Look, Sam, I appreciate you going through all the trouble to find me but, as you can see, I have other priorities now." You look back into the house through the window to find your daughter peeking through the window.

"But-" Bucky speaks up but you stop him.

"You guys can stay the night if you'd like," you say, looking at the darkening sky. "But I'm not going back. There's a reason I left that life."

Bucky bites his tongue to stop himself from asking you what that reason was.

"Thanks for letting us stay." Sam smiles as he passes the threshold of your home.

You never thought this day would come. Seeing your daughter run around your back yard with one of your best friends.

“She’s beautiful.” Bucky comes to stand next to you, but you only hum in agreement. Words seemingly disappeared from your mind the second his scent wafted closer to you. Sandalwood and fire, clean linens with a dash of something else. So masculine, so protective. So incredibly, Bucky. 

“How old is she?” He asks.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” You take a deep breath in, letting him coat your lungs. 

“I just want to know.” Bucky tries to act innocently. He dissects every trait he can tell comes from you, but the rest, they look awfully similar to him. Tashi’s nose has the same bump as his and her eyes crinkle just like Bucky’s when she smiles. 

“Faking was never your forte.” You smile. “She’s not your daughter Bucky.”

“Bucky.” He repeats his name like it hurts him to say. “You never used to call me that.” 

“Well, I used to call you baby but I wouldn’t want Tashi to start asking questions about who my other baby is.” 

Bucky lets out a laugh, it’s a low grumble that shakes his ribs. It’s been so long since he felt this peace. “I missed this,” he lets the words slip out.

“I missed this too.” You say, barely above a whisper, stopping yourself before you say that you missed him. But you did.

Every day since you left, you thought of Bucky. Of the way he used to hold you so tenderly and the kisses he gave you at night. Of how he said I love you and made it sound like the only words that existed.

But all those memories were of the past, your life before Tashi came in. And you should keep them like that.

-----

The moonlight is the only thing that illuminates Bucky as he wanders around the cabin. He didn't mean to lurk but he'd woken up from a nightmare.

Your home was different than he imagined. A lot more stuffed animals and toys and less trinkets from your past life. There were a couple of pictures here and there but they were mostly of Tashi and you.

"What are you doing up?" Bucky jumps up at the sound of her squeaky voice.

Tashi looks up at him with those goddamned eyes. They looked so much like his, it was concerning.

"I-I couldn't sleep." Bucky rubs the back of his neck.

"Do you have nightmares?" She asks so innocently. If only she knew the things he dreamed of. "I have them too."

"You do?" Bucky whispers, making her nod her little head.

"Mommy usually helps be back to sleep but I don't want to wake her up." Tashi brings a finger to her mouth, motioning for the Sergeant to keep quiet. "Don't tell her I woke up, promise?"

"Promise." Bucky brings out his pinky, wrapping it around her little finger. "I'll let you in on a little secret of mine."

Tashi's blue eyes widen, urging him to go on.

"You may not know about me but, there was a time your Mommy helped me with my nightmares." Bucky smiles at the memory.

"I know about you, silly goose." Tashi covers her giggles with her hand.

"You do?"

She nods, holding her hand out and taking him to her playroom. Sitting Bucky in an incredibly small chair. "You're the boy from my book!"

Tashi places in his hands a hand sewn felt book. The characters were a bit wonky but Bucky could immediately spot himself in the fabric.

"You're the boy with the heart of gold and the arm of steel." She says, proudly pointing to the book.

"The boy with the heart of gold and the arm of steel would save anyone, especially the people he loved," Bucky read his description on the book. "People around the world misjudged him, but that didn't stop him from being good. He proved them all wrong."

"You're my favorite character," Tashi smiles wide. "Don't tell Uncle Sam."

"Your secret is safe with me." Bucky lets out a watery smile, setting the book down on the floor. "How about you go up to your room and I can tell you a story about your mom."

"Really?" Tashi jumps up.

"Only if you promise to try and go to sleep again." Bucky raises his eyebrow, trying to appear strong but the little girl already had him wrapped around her finger.

"Under one condition," Tashi crosses her arms. "I can go outside and get my Natasha figurine."

Bucky bites down on his lip. "It's quite late to go outside."

"Please?" She pouts. "It'll only take a second."

God she looks so much like you.

"Fine." Bucky gives in. "But I'll be watching by the door, can't let you go outside all alone."

The super soldier walks behind the little girl, watching as she runs outside and sifts through the grass.

Bucky should have known something was wrong, he should have heard them lurking in the bushes. But he was too distracted by her, too distracted by the idea that this could have been his life. That in some multiverse, Tashi was his daughter and he could've retired next to the love of his life.

But he didn't. And it was too late once he realized what was happening.

Tens of agents dressed in black closed in on the cabin, running onto the property. Tashi was the first thing they grabbed.

He heard her yell out his name, but it happened in slow motion.

"No!" Bucky screamed, running towards the man who kidnapped her. "Let her go!"

Tashi's red splotched eyes was the last thing Bucky saw before they crammed her into a black van and left down the only road. His feet burned as he ran behind them, but not even Bucky was able to catch up to them.

Once he came back to the cabin, Sam and you were running around trying to understand what happened.

"I'm sorry." Bucky lets the tears run down his face. "I couldn't stop them."

You dropped to the floor with a sob.

Bucky's knees finally gave out. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry- We're going to get her back, I promise that I'll get her back."

Authors note: hi hiiii omg I went a little bit overboard with this one. It's been a looooong time since I wrote something this long. I hope y'all like it! Xx

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @whoreforbarnes @ironwinnerwonderland @oikarma @ellabellabunny123

[quarterlifekitty]

So. Highly inspired by this series

Imagine dying next to Ghost. Alongside him. In bed, asleep together, and it’s no one’s fault. It wasn’t a targeted attack. A gas leak. There was no pain, no panic, nothing. Tragic, before your time, and wrought with the impotent agony that can only come about when there’s no target for revenge.

There are worse things, than being a trapped spirit with the man you loved in the house where you loved him. Despite how all of the world has gone quiet, you can still feel him, and he can feel you.

You can still make love.

But every so often, when he takes you from behind, you feel this sharp, burning pain in your back. You know it’s his doing, but something about him has been so… hard to read, since you both died. Even though you don’t have anything left to lose, he holds you tighter than he ever did before. Won’t leave you alone for a moment. There’s terror in his eyes. You don’t understand it— he died in peace. None of the things that haunted him in life can follow him here. But you don’t have the courage to ask him.

He’ll die a thousand times over before he tells you that he’s ripping the feathers from your back because god is trying to take you somewhere he can’t follow.

[lovelyghst]

simon riley would be running around the house playing airplane with his daughter perched on his shoulders and then get distracted, probably by your pretty voice coming from another room asking for his help. he comes to your aid, as always, but ends up so fixated on finding you that he forgets to duck through the doorway and your kiddo wounds up with a wall to the face, doorframe bonking her in the brow hard, the little thud echoing through the room.

you gasp, dropping everything you’ve got in your hands to join simon in cradling her with endless sympathy and ‘sorry’s, smoothing over the little red mark appearing quickly on her skin.

and, oh, he feels guilty. like, painfully so. this is worse than any war crimes he’s committed, by far.

he’ll break the geneva conventions a thousand times over before even daring to put a single scratch on his precious family.

but your little girl doesn’t cry, at all. not even for a second.

all giggles and smiles as she rubs her forehead and exclaims faux disappointment in her daddy, and simon takes so much pride in that. claiming he only raises tough girls, you included as he’s ruffling your hair. you kiss both their cheeks and hum in agreement, opting not to suggest that maybe she’s like this because the exact same thing has happened more times than you can count, to a t.

[suempu]

Looooving the Laios content!!!! If you have any nsfw headcanons for him we would love to hear those too👀

<3 i tried to keep it as gn as possible. reader is on the receiving end

laios wouldn’t really be interested in sexual things unless you ask him about it.

getting intimate with him would have to happen at random or unplanned.

he’s really just content with kissing and hugging you, he’s never once thought of sex. one kiss is enough to get him so high and happy.

please makeout with this man, it gets him going. he loves your lips, the way you hum into his mouth, and the gentle caresses you leave on his arm while you do.

your first makeout session gets him hard. normally, you two only exchange sweet kisses and touches, so he was shocked when you decided to crawl over his lap to hold his face better.

his mind explodes from there.

he’s a whimperer, please guys agree with me on this. a lot of quiet gasps and surprised voice cracks are gonna come out of him.

“mmf… nghh… mMph-!”

he loves it when you tug on his hair, when your fingers dig into his roots and firmly pulling it back while you grind down at him.

laios likes putting his hands around your body, he embraces you while moaning into your mouth, eager for more of your taste.

dont get me started with the whole “taste” thing.

this man loves to eat, we all know that. but he loves to eat you.

the first time is awkward, as he’s not sure where he’s allowed to touch you and he’s quite hesitant.

“i just… don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“laios, i’ll tell you if i don’t like it, okay?

you’re both learning each other’s bodies, and after much reassurance he leans in and nips at your neck.

he’s a… mouthy person. loves sucking on your skin, biting your ear (gently of course), moaning into your shoulder. one thing he loves to do, which isn’t inherently sexual, is to wrap his arms around you while nosing and kissing the skin between your jaw to your shoulder.

he trails his lips all over you, making you giggle and moan at the same time. he just likes feeling you out tbh

laios is def girthy, nothing extreme, just a bit thicker than you’d realize. he’s kind of shy at first, no one has ever seen him like this so he doesn’t know if he’s considered “sexy” or attractive

until now, he paid no mind to his body, didn’t care if people found him hot or anything, but he’s suddenly embarrassed when its you.

“i-is it good enough…?”

“you’re literally bigger than 4 of my fingers combined.”

but yes, please praise this man. tell him you love him and that he’s beautiful.

laios eats up the praise, he has a dopey smile on his face and a blush on his cheeks. he loves knowing that he can satisfy you, it makes him feel fulfilled.

once you actually get to it, his body was trembling from the heat and warmth. he moans shakily while nuzzling his face into your hair, murmuring about how good you feel and how much he loves you.

he’s really loud. he’ll moan in your ear with no hesitation and you tease him about it afterwards.

aftercare with him is comfy and cozy. you both are spent as you cuddle into each other, basking in the afterglow.

he has such a loving gaze, he looks so much like a big puppy that it makes your heart melt.

“that… was really good.” he sighs, lips nuzzled into your hair. pulling back from his chest, you rub his cheeks as you relax into the pillows, staring up at him with a smug face. “i can tell. with the way you came after 10 seconds.”

“please don’t.” he groans.

don’t worry, after a few times he will memorize all the sensitive spots in your body and get you to cum a thousand more.

laios has good stamina and he can go for at least 2 or 3 more rounds. if you’re too tired, he’ll use his remaining energy to carry you to the bathroom and wash you both off.

will unintentionally get hard while he’s cleaning you, so please forgive him for that. he’s just really attracted to you lmao

“next time maybe you can try pulling my hair.” you lean back against his chest in the tub. “or maybe a tug?”

“i don’t know… i wouldn’t wanna accidentally hurt you.”

“……”

“…”

“laios are you hard right now?”

“i’m sorry.”

after that, you both will have a relaxing routine of drying each other’s hair and brushing your teeth before sleeping.

laios is eager to learn more about your body and he’s genuinely excited to figure out what gets you going. 100/10 lover, he can’t wait to go again.

[gregheiferly]

SOFTER, SOFTEST !

ft. curly x fem!reader

tags. piv, body worship sort of, rimming, big dick, tit job for like 2 seconds, creampie, size kink, scent kink, balls…

note. hai.. will get back to leon soon and I think mw fandom is lacking noncon and incest fics severely.. so i will get on that with jimmy. don’t know how to characterise him yet so ooc .. just infatuated with his breasts tbh i don’t know anything works in this universe LMFAO like idk just take this with a grain of salt.. please ignore typos !! unedited :3

You miss Curly.

You miss him more than you did yesterday, more than an idiot misses the point, like a dick misses a wet pussy–You just miss him.

It has been four months. Twenty-one weeks. One-hundred and forty days. Three-thousand, five-hundred and twenty hours. Too many minutes, a hell of a lot more seconds, the closer he gets the further he seems to be.

Big numbers make it feel like you’re getting nowhere so you cut those twenty-fours into one day. One day and he’ll be home. One day and you’ll be in bed with his stomach crushed against yours, the warmth of his flesh searing yours, fucking him into next year, until he loses his halo.

Videos aren’t enough, photos don’t do him justice, toys don’t live up to the feel of a real dick. You miss that face he makes when he cums - it’s a block away from his crying face. You miss him face down, ass up, punching holes into his dignity one thrust at a time. God, you miss that dick, how he goes red all over, him in nothing but that stupid fucking smile.

One day, you tell yourself in the mirror that morning. One day, you tell yourself when you take your lunch break. One day, one more microwaved meal for one, one more lonely night.

It used to be a big deal, you think. The whole going to space thing. Curly says it’s no big deal, but you’re pretty sure that in your great-grandpa’s heyday it was impressive. You’ve seen videos of hoards gathering to watch a ship take off, to greet crews when they landed. Today, it’s you and a plump, older woman in her bathrobe waiting in the cold.

You could spot him in any crowd, glowing like a ray of light, mostly because he’s tall, partly because everything fades into abstraction when you notice how tight his uniform is. Good god. Did he get bigger? You’re starting to sweat, it’s hard to focus when your boyfriend is making a long-sleeved jumpsuit look naughty.

Curly’s hair is a little longer, blond curls licking the nape of his neck, falling onto his forehead, his eyes are so bright and his smile is white. He looks like a policeman’s emotional support dog. A really busty support dog. He scans the sad scattering of friends, family and drivers. You’re so taken off guard by the sight of his buttons popping you almost forget to wave at him.

He beams when you spot him, suitcase dragging behind him as he jogs over. Everything is in slow motion. Like that old movie - Baywatch. He’s so excited to see you, taking you into his big arms, shoving your face in his chest like he knows just where you’d like to be. You’re disappointed in your lungs when they beg for air, lifting your head and placing it on his shoulder instead. He smells like sweat, hotel shampoo and something metallic.

“Oh.” You open your eyes and spot Jimmy skulking behind him, an unlit cigarette between his lips. You narrow your eyes at him, and Jimmy does the same. Real shady guy, the type you’d cross the street to avoid. He’s always trailing after Curly like a bad omen. “He can’t come home with us, honey,” you tell him gently, not wanting to sound like a bitch.

Which you are.

You don’t want him smoking in your car, you don’t want Curly to invite him over for takeout because that means it’ll go on for hours and you won’t get your mouth on his big, stupid dick for another day.

“Hm? Why not?” Curly asks, pressing a kiss into your hairline, the tip of his nose bumping yours tenderly.

“I don’t have space in my car for both of you and the luggage, she’s small. What if she tips over? You’re heavy enough as it is.” You smile at him, cheekily, giving his newfound hips a squeeze. They’ve always been there, but now they’re like wow. It’s only been four months, is he on steroids? Did he get pregnant? He is glowing… God knows what’s up there in the atmosphere, some cosmic horror waiting to knock up your poor boyfriend.

Curly shrugs, offering an apologetic smile to his friend. “You heard the lady.”

Jimmy’s permanent scowl seems to deepen, cementing itself in his dermal layer. “Whatever, man.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumped as he makes a beeline for the phonebox.

He lifts his suitcase and loads it into your car and you watch his biceps flex. You see through his clothes, you remember every freckle on his back, mapping them out like stars, leading to those dimples low on his back, the perfect resting spot for your thumbs when you grab his ass. His body is so convenient. Like he was made to be fucked every which way.

“I missed you, I thought about you everyday,” he says against your lips, leaning in to kiss you over the gearshift. “I put your picture in the cockpit actually, Jim didn’t like it, but it kept me going.”

Always so earnest. You almost feel bad for missing his body more than him.

“Aww, Curly, honey,” you coo, pinching his cheek and cupping the other, “I missed you even more.” He nuzzles into your hand, eyes closed as you comb your fingers through his messy hair.

As much as you would like to indulge his sentimentality, you have no patience to spare. If you sit here any longer, you’re going to soak through your jeans and onto your leather seat.

You put the car in drive—

“Captain? Open up!” There’s a younger man knocking on the window, leaving his grubby handprints behind. “I wanted you to meet my mom!” His voice is muffled through the glass.

You lock the windows.

“Did you lock the windows?” Curly asks, lips downturned like he’s about to pout.

You unlock the windows.

“Of course not, baby.” You pat his head and grit your teeth.

They talk for fifteen whole minutes.

Thank you for taking care of him, he can be such a handful—Oh no, not at all, he was a joy to have—I’m glad he came back in one piece—He’s a good kid—Oh, I don’t know about that—Mooom—I’d be happy to have him back for our next long haul—Seriously, Captain?—

You squirm in place, shifting from side to side, thighs pressed together as your panties stick to your core. When Curly introduces you to his crew mate, you offer a strained smile and nothing more.

The window whirs shut. You make it home in record breaking time with four tickets and only a few points taken off your license. It doesn’t matter. You’re home, inside with the curtains drawn and Curly still has clothes on.

That’s not right.

“Take it off.”

“Huh?” Curly pushes his luggage into the corner, the top few buttons of his jumpsuit have come undone and you see the tuft of blond hair on his chest.

“Take it off, please?”

“My clothes?”

“No, your wig, baby.”

He laughs, good-natured, mild-mannered, and so fucking hot.

If he won’t do it then you will.

“I haven’t even showered—“ He starts, but you shush him with a kiss, murmuring a ‘good’ against his pink mouth.

When you part, spit keeps your lips connected, the string of fate or whatever. You go in for another, hands fisting the fabric of his collar, forcing him down towards you. Curly lets out a keening noise somewhere in the back of his throat like a dog scratching at the bathroom door.

“I know, my baby, I’ll give it to you.” You pout at him, thumbing his kiss-swollen lips and watching his eyes droop. “Oh no…” The buttons on his uniform when you try to open them.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles through a mouthful of his own spit, “cheap stuff.”

“I know, but you looked so good in it.” It’s a shame, but you need to see him bare, sweat as his only accessory.

“You think?” He near bats his lashes at you, stepping out of his uniform, and you swoon.

“God, yeah.” You push him down on the couch, Curly falls back with a soft grunt. It’s not very big, especially for a man of his size, but it’ll do for now.

His cock swells in his boxers, you feel it beneath you as you sit atop him, admiring the view below. The wide expanse of his chest, the sweat pooling in his collarbones, those tits. You don’t know what else they could be.

“Wow.” You take a handful of his chest, plucking his puffy pink nipple. “Look at these, I might have some competition.”

“Shut it,” he huffs out a laugh through his nose, and the tips of ears redden.

“I’m serious, baby, you’re, like, huge.” You can’t tear your eyes away from his soft flesh, moulding beneath your fingertips like dough, you could fuck them if you really wanted. “What happened out there?”

“Had a lot of spare time, I guess.” Curly smiles sheepishly, expression contorting when you bend your neck to suck his nipple into your mouth with a wet pop! His jaw slackens, and his cock jumps like it’s been given quite the fright.

You only have one complaint. His tan lines have faded. Floating through the galaxy for months on end can do that to you. You miss them, but you missed Curly more, so you’ll make do with what you have.

And you have more than enough. More than you can handle really. You can’t even get a grasp on his bicep, he’s stupidly big and your hand is on the smaller side.

You shift backwards, wet cunt dragging over his impossibly big bulge where only his underwear keeps you from him - you kind of admire your pussy for being able to take it. Your mouth moves on, hands still groping as much as you can of his chest as you lick the ridges of his stomach, it’s like he’s forged out of marble.

Softly, Curly rubs the back of your head, trying his very best to keep his eyes on you and not let them fall shut. You feel his stomach muscles rippling under your tongue. They contract when you trace around his navel, placing a sloppy kiss just below it, where a patch of curly hair leads to his wet cock.

His cock is drooling through the white fabric of his boxers, they’re soaked enough to be see-through, you spot the fat, pink head that has been missing your kisses. “You’re so wet, baby, is it all for me?”

With a pitiful noise, he tosses his head back and nods sadly. It’s funny to hear a man of his stature whine, but it suits Curly so well.

Your fingers hook in the waistband, tugging his underwear downwards until his fat cock springs out, it’s so fucking fat it weighs itself down. The leaky head twitches, pre dripping down his thick shaft, leaving a moonlit trail to his heavy balls. So full of seed they might burst.

“Oh… Poor baby.” You give them a gentle squeeze, and Curly’s eyes roll back into his skull, hips jolting upwards.

The urge to take it into your mouth right then and there is tempting, you hold back, you want to take your time with him. Make him feel special. You seat yourself between his thighs, one leg thrown over your shoulder so it’s easier to fit on the sofa. Your thumb runs along his pink slit, dribbling out pearly strands of pre that web between your fingers. Curly whimpers, biting down on his fist.

“These are cute.” You take note of his meaty thighs, how they’ve only gotten bigger, a comfier place to sit. The stretch marks don’t go unnoticed, streaking purple and pink along the milky flesh of his inner thighs like faded brushstrokes.

“Mmmph.” He blinks at you, pouty, lashes wet with impatient tears.

“Yeah, mmmph, I know, baby, be patient.” You’re a big, fat hypocrite.

His scent is stronger down here, clean and soapy, but the tang of sweat prospers, and the underlying smell of him. The smell of his pillow, the smell of his few-days old clothes, the smell of his towel after he works out.

A few more kisses here and there, using the flat of your tongue to lave over strips of his sinewy skin, leaving him spit-slicked and breathless and flushed. You hoist his other leg over your shoulder, he’s heavy, but you’re horny and it’s given you a sudden burst of vitality.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, gripping the top of the couch, one arm over his face as you lick up the seam of his balls, mouth latching to the swollen underside, where they feel heaviest.

Curly’s cock leaks into your hair, the weight brings it down to rest on your face, tip pressed into your hairline, dripping down the bridge of your nose like sweat while you make a mess of his balls. Stuffing them into your mouth one at a time, using your hand to give the lonelier one a squeeze when your lips are kissing up on another.

The kiss to his perineum is enough to make him moan. Curly knows what’s coming. You go lower, nose nestled into his balls, breathing him while your hands spread his ass cheeks apart to get to the spot you love most.

Curly’s hole is darker than the rest of him, not quite pink like his cock, ruddier. He’s tight and he smells good. So good. You’ve never minded the hair, you think it’s pretty cute. Curtains match the drapes.

Affectionately, you kiss his puffy rim, and it throbs.

He lets out a groan that is half mortified and half ready-to-blow-his-load.

“Sure,” Curly says, voice breaking as you circle his hole with the tip of your tongue. He tastes like him, musky and sweet and coppery. Curly is home and your tongue is in his ass where it belongs, wriggling its way past his pulsing rim, hopefully all the way up into his heart.

Your thumb and middle finger stretch to meet around the girth of his cock, stroking him slowly as you work open his asshole, tongue pushing back in when he pushes you out. Once you deem him wet enough, you push a single finger knuckle-deep and he cries out, hips bucking up off the couch.

Much to his dismay, which he shows in the form of a pained whimper, your hand leaves his cock to splay over his stomach and hold him down to the best of your abilities. “You have to stay still, honey.”

You feed a second finger into him, his hole squelching as you curl them inside of him. Curly clenches tight enough to cut off your blood circulation, sucking you back in when you ultimately pull them out with a lewd noise. He opens his mouth on instinct, pupils so blown out his light eyes seem dark, you push your fingers down his throat and he sucks.

“You’re so cute,” you mumble, watching him intently, he’s like a pin-up model of some sort. An X-rated action figure. “Taste good?”

“Not really,” Curly says. He’s so honest it makes you laugh. He shuffles back to rest his head on the arm of the couch, cock bobbing, still leaking like nobody’s business, leaving little droplets of wet in its wake.

It’s ready to burst, but you’re not done with him yet. You haven’t had your fill. When you spend half your time with your head between his thighs, you miss out on all the faces he pulls. So you spit on your tits to get them wet, his cock is slick enough, nothing should chafe when you squeeze his cock between them.

“Christ,” Curly grits out, brows knitting together, the second coming and he hasn’t even had his first.

“You wanna cum like this?” You ask, kneading your tits on either side of his cock, each time the tip pops up past your cleavage, it bumps your chin and leaves it slick.

“No…” He shakes his head, curls bouncing, sticking to his forehead, the hair near his nose is curlier with the added sweat. “Inside.”

“I can do that for you, babe.” You smile at him, acting like that wasn’t your plan in the first place, like you haven’t been dying for a warm creampie since he landed back on earth. You give the fat head of his dick one sloppy kiss, making sure to tongue his slit before you clamber on top of him.

It should be an easy task to get him inside, you’ve been wet for the last twenty-four hours, your pussy is throbbing like it’s got a heartbeat. Slick dries on your inner thighs and your clit is buzzing, a rush of arousal passes over you like a cold wave when you lift your hips to guide his dick into you.

Oh. Wow. That’s a stretch. 

In theory, you know big Curly’s dick is. It’s a fucking horsecock, and you have eyes bigger than your stomach. You always overestimate yourself. You think you’re gonna be just fine, then his fat tip breaches your little hole, no matter how wet, and you lose it, scrambling to grasp his shoulders as your body is racked with shivers.

Curly’s kind enough to steady you, big hands finding purchase on your hips. His needy noises get through to you, and you push on, sliding down and taking him to the hilt. His dick curves upwards into your cervix, rubbing the fleshy opening as you adjust to his dick after four whole months of nothing worthwhile.

He’s so big. You’re so wet, slippery pussy slicking up his cock, and making things easier for the both of you.

“I love you.” Curly shudders, looking right into your eyes like he’s afraid to blink and miss a single thing.

“I love you too,” you tell him, eyes on his tits.

He’s so deep, feet planted on the couch as he fucks into you, unable to help himself. You get it. You’re tight, warm, and wet. Better than his fist. Your pussy is noisy, squelching each time you bottom you, grinding your clit into his pelvis, feeling his cock twitch each time you tighten around him. The plap of his balls hitting your ass when enough momentum is built up.

Curly’s helpful, when he sees you tense up, throwing your head back and rolling your hips over and over, you want him deeper and deeper, he wets his fingers with your slick and rubs figure eights into your clit.

It’s just enough to make your toes curl—Oh, who are you kidding? You near blackout when you cum, moaning so loud you scare yourself. You see black. Like someone’s drawn the curtains in your mind, ending the show. Your nails dig into his skin, but he’s always put up with that like a champ.

“Holy fuck.” Shaking still, you blink to clear your vision, you’ve wet his navel and his tummy and the couch might be ruined. You don’t even remember when he came inside you. What a shame. Feels good though, still warm. Sighing, you lay against his chest, Curly’s soft cock slips out of your hole, resting on his thigh. “Welcome home, Captain.”

[wonderjanga]

Can I Please be Your Friend?

Billy doesn’t have friends. Between being Marvel and working odd jobs, he hasn’t really had the time some. So when he got invited to join the newly formed Justice League. He was ecstatic! Sure, these people were at least a very minimum of 20 years older than him and sure they would probably talk about taxes and stuff, but superhero friends! Meanwhile, the Justice League is like, “wow this guy is so social. I like it!”

Marvel: “You have a lighthouse…?” *sounds so amazed*

Aquaman: “Yeah. My dad was a lighthouse keeper so I got it when he passed.”

Marvel: “That’s so awesome! Can I come over?”

Aquaman: “Oh, okay? Sure?” *a little surprised he asked but eh whatever*

That was how Arthur spent the day showing Cap around the lighthouse. The man was a really good listener and was surprisingly very interested in listening to Arthur talk about how to use the light. You couldn’t even ask Arthur how they both ended up jumping off the railings of the lighthouse of dive into the water. You also couldn’t ask him how they ended up having a water fight, with the Atlantean calling for some sea creatures as back up. You also also couldn’t ask him how shocked a hotdog vendor was when he saw Captain Marvel and Aquaman, both of which who are supposed to be revered heroes, soaked, looking like wet dogs, asking for a couple of hotdogs after they nearly caused a tidal wave.

They got scolded by Batman a little while later for acting like children and almost causing the previously mentioned tidal wave. It was a little funny to see Batman scolding a man a solid two feet taller than him.

Soon after that whole incident, Marvel went to befriend Martian Manhunter next.

Marvel: *staring at J’onn while holding a box of cookies*

MM: *can hear him thinking about how to approach him and looks over to Marvel*

Marvel: *thinks a little too loudly and J’onn hears a nearly deafening “FRIEND”*

MM: *flinches and clutches his head* “Captain. Is something the matter.”

Marvel: “Oh uh…” *walks over and looks between the cookies and J’onn* “I was uh- wondering if you wanted to eat these with me.”

And that’s how J’onn spent the rest of the afternoon eating cookies with Marvel. J’onn had at first thought Marvel was quiet because he was something humans called awkward. But no, every now and then, when J’onn forgot that humans preferred to keep their thoughts private, he’d hear how happy Marvel was that he accepted. He’d also heard a couple other voices which was slightly concerning. He didn’t know if that was normal for humans or not.

Then, the next was Batman. Bruce honestly didn’t even know how they had started talking about this. All he knows is that they were talking about the team’s performance in the field, then that somehow transitioned into talking about superheroes in general, which then somehow led to fictional superheroes, which led to now:

Marvel: “Oh, you like Gray Ghost?”

Batman: “I was… a fan of him when I was a child.” *doesn’t know why he’s telling Marvel this*

Marvel: “Cool! Did you see the movies?”

From there on was a forty minute yapping session about Gray Ghost, his lore, the movies, the comics, the action figures, and so on.

Marvel: “I even had his comics as a kid too.”

Batman: “Really? Reprints or originals?”

Marvel: “I wanna say originals? What do you mean by reprints though?”

Batman: “Reprinting is when they take a comic, and remake it to look a little better, such as brighter colors or slightly tweaked dialogue, so they can sell it again.”

Marvel: “Oh. Then I’d say I probably have originals then.”

Batman: “Interesting. Those are collectors items now. They go for thousands.”

Marvel; “Really?!” *eyes nearly bug out of his skull* “Huh. I had no idea. Which ones did you have?”

Batman: “Mostly reprints. But I do have a couple originals on display.”

So yeah. The two were geeking out and stuff. Bruce honestly has literally no one to talk about this with so he’ll admit he was a little (a lot) happy.

We can’t forget the other JL heroes though.

Flash: “Like, he is so nice, and for what?”

GL: “I know right he let me ramble for like 45 minutes about planes! He was asking questions too!”

Supes: “And he’s always willing to help with anything. I didn’t even get to finish asking if he could cover my monitor shifts before he said yes.” *sounds slightly guiltily (he still feels bad for asking)*

In conclusion, Billy really wants to be friends with these guys, and his methods are definitely working.

[seumyo]

yearning drunk!husband ushijima wakatoshi.

NOTE. contains a bit of alcohol content—though nothing too explicit or anything concerning <33

It always started the same way—kind of like an inside joke that grew wings, feathers, a tab, and Ushijima’s name on the reservation list.

Ushijima never initiated going out drinking with his Schweiden Adlers teammates. In fact, he rarely said anything about it at all. It was always someone else who mentioned it after a game. Always someone else who slung an arm over his shoulder and declared, “C’mon, Ushiwaka, we have to celebrate,” even though Ushijima had never once expressed interest in alcohol, bar food, or drunken conversations.

Still, he always went.

Because it’d be rude if he didn’t at least stay for a few minutes, he thinks.

Sometimes he showed up in his team windbreaker, sometimes in a long, dark gray coat that made him look like a trench-wearing monument of silence. And he never said no, even when the clamor of celebration was already grating at the edges of his patience.

Tonight was one of those nights.

They’d won by the skin of their teeth—an overtime set against a grueling opponent, the kind of match that made even the benchwarmers feel like champions by the end. So of course Heiwajima had started the round-up in the locker room. Hoshiumi had shouted over everyone about their lucky bar down the street, and within twenty minutes, the entire team had found themselves in their regular private suite.

Ushijima sat at the end of the table, his back straight, a glass in front of him filled with alcohol he didn’t particularly like. His teammates were loud and loose and chaotic—laughing at Sokolov trying to arm-wrestle the bar’s bouncer, clapping every time someone dropped a fork, and yelling across the table in at least three different languages.

“A thousand yen says he’ll ask about his wife in twenty minutes,” Hoshiumi said quietly, leaning toward their captain, Hirugami Fukurou.

“You’re giving him way too much credit,” Romero replied, fondly grinning. “He gets wistful around minute twelve.”

“He gets wistful the moment he sits down.”

Ushijima was unmoved. He stared at his drink, took a single sip, and let it rest in his hand. He didn’t participate in the yelling, the toasts, or the story someone was animatedly telling about a missed serve from three seasons ago. He just existed—quietly, stoically—as a satellite to the chaos.

Except, of course, they all knew he was waiting.

He always was.

There was a pattern to the transformation. First, he’d sit there like stone. Then he’d blink a little more slowly. His brows would draw together—not in anger, but in vague confusion, like he was lost in a thought he couldn’t solve. His fingers would move against his glass, not to drink but to fidget, just a little.

And then…

“Has anyone seen my phone?” Ushijima asked, barely louder than the buzz of conversation.

Hoshiumi slid it across the table immediately. “Right here, Ushiwaka. Sorry! We took a few pictures here and there.”

“Thank you.”

He looked down at the screen. It was still lit with the last message from you from earlier that day: Good luck, baby. Don’t forget to stretch your left shoulder. He’d never replied—he never did, not when he was already in headspace—but now, he stared at it like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You want to text her?” Hoshiumi asks, lightly teasing, which Ushijima didn’t catch onto.

Ushijima didn’t answer. He opened the thread and typed a few letters. Deleted them. Typed something else. Backspaced. Then just stared.

And then finally: “She hasn’t replied.”

His teammates laughed.

“There it is!”

“It’s only been seventeen minutes! I win!”

“No, you cheated. I said ten, and he didn’t even check his phone until minute twelve!”

“Shh, shh, look at him—he’s pouting.”

“Wait, is this the pout phase? I thought that came after the silent brooding phase.”

“Technically we’re entering pout-brood overlap. It’s a dangerous time.”

Ushijima didn’t argue. He simply set the phone down again and folded his hands in front of him. Kageyama leaned over.

“You want me to call her for you, Ushijima-san?”

Ah, yes. Kageyama was too nice for his own good. Trying to enhance his socialization and trying to lessen his awkwardness with his teammates when the conversation didn’t revolve around volleyball.

Ushijima nodded. Just once. Immediately. “Yes.”

...

“Amazing! He’s not even trying to hide it.”

“Can you imagine being that in love?”

“He just wants his wife. Look at him. He’s a whole sad poem in one sitting.”

“She’s gonna get here, and he’s gonna light up like a lantern.”

“May this love run me over.”

Kageyama stood and walked a few paces away from the table, already dialing your number. Meanwhile, the others watched Ushijima sip his drink again—not because he wanted it, but because it gave his hands something to do. His eyes were glued to the screen even though no new notifications had appeared.

Romero leaned in conspiratorially to Hirugami. “Do you think she talks to him in, like, soft tones? Calls him ‘baby’ and stuff?”

“I think so,” he shrugs. “I think they’re sweet like that.”

“Aw, young love.”

The teasing continued, but it softened. Because underneath the jokes and the laughs was a sort of awe.

Their teammate—so serious, so focused, so unreadable on court—was completely and utterly soft when it came to his wife. Not in a loud way. Not in any way that could be easily teased, really. It was quiet. Heavy. Real.

When Kageyama returned, he had a pleased expression. “She’s on her way. Said she just got off work and is driving over.”

Ushijima gave another slow blink.

“Thank you.”

Kageyama nods. Somehow they manage to have conversations even if they just continue nodding to each other.

As soon as Kageyama said it, his phone buzzed with a new message. He didn’t even need to open it. He could tell by the way his entire body relaxed by a single, barely noticeable degree.

Sorry, hun. Just got off work. Are you okay?

He replied.

I’m okay. I miss you.

And then he set the phone down and folded his hands again, this time with more calm. More certainty. You were coming. That was all he needed to know.

The others noticed the shift immediately.

“He smiled.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“He did! Don’t argue with me; I saw it. It was micro. But it counted.”

“He’s already halfway out the door with his heart.”

“Watch, the second she walks through that door, he’ll go full puppy mode.”

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, the door opened. A gust of cold air followed you inside, along with the soft jingle of the bar’s entrance bell. You spotted them easily—your eyes landing on Ushijima before anything else. And his entire body seemed to change shape.

He stood up—not quickly, but instantly, with a kind of gravity no one else in the room had.

You smiled as you approached, slipping out of your coat and brushing off the cold that nipped your nose softly. “Hi, love,” you greeted softly. “You ready to go?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said, already reaching for his jacket.

As he shrugged it on, you turned to the table. “Hope he wasn’t too much trouble?”

Hoshiumi leaned on the table with a grin. “[Name], your husband is the definition of ‘not trouble.’ We’re just grateful you came to collect him before he sighed himself into the carpet.”

“Tell them what he said!” someone shouted.

“He asked if anyone had seen his phone like it was a national emergency.”

“And he didn’t pout—he brooded. Like a man out of a romantic novel.”

“I think I did,” Ushijima just nodded at their comments about him.

He then stood by quietly, waiting for you to finish your goodbyes. When you looped your arm through his, he leaned ever so slightly toward you.

As they left, Romero raised his glass.

“To [Name]’s husband,” he declared. The table cheered.

Outside, as you two walked toward the car, you glanced up at him, fingers tightening around his arm.

“You really okay?” you asked.

He hummed. Then, in that low, steady voice only you ever got to hear, it softened—

“I missed you,” he said again. “They were loud. I wanted to see you very much.”

You smiled and gave his arm a firm, loving squeeze. “Well. I’m here now.”

And... yeah.

That’s what he’s been wanting to hear all night.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[heyimkana]

Pillow Talk (2/4)

Read Part 1 | AO3 Link

Sequel to Come Home to Me but can be read separately.

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: Marriage AU, fluff, smut, slight hurt/comfort

Summary: Although the two of you yearn for each other's touch so badly, you start the night slow. Cuddling with your husband in bed, you ask him questions you've never had the bravery to ask before. And as he comforts you, he can't help but tease and play with you a little.

Content Warnings: constant flirting, endless banter and teasing, some nipple play (you'll sit on his face in the next part tho 👀)

Word Count: 10K

The bed sheets wrinkle underneath your fingers, your heart thumping in excitement as the word ‘reward’ rings through your ears. You watch him hover above you, your body caged by his own. “I can ask for... anything?”

With a chuckle so soft yet titillating, Jinwoo prods his nose against the pulsating vein on your neck, savoring your sweet, intoxicating scent. “Anything.”

You swallow thickly, a thousand different wishes bursting into your head at once. “T-then… I want you to…” 

Kiss me. Touch me. Make love to me. 

These words echo vehemently in your head, a plea that almost physically pains you to ignore. “K-ki…” You can’t say it. You stop yourself from saying it. You don’t want to let him win, not like this, not without effort. Your husband is already a fucking tease even without you giving him a reason to be. If you surrender now, he’ll flaunt his cheeky, cocky grin all day tomorrow, and while he’ll look unbearably sexy when he does that, you’re not sure if your pride can take it. 

A mischievous glint coats his eyes simply from noticing the changes in your behavior. Jinwoo drags his face closer to yours, his sentence coming out in a low, seductive purr, “Getting shy now, Sweetheart? How cute.”

See? Even when you haven’t said anything yet, he’s already annoying. 

Though flustered, you keep yourself composed. A little teasing like this isn’t something you can’t quickly recover from. Determined to step up your game, you bite your bottom lip, both to restrain yourself from begging for him to touch you as well as to entice him so he’ll make the first move. You know he wants this just as much as you do. If anything, with the way he’s trapping you underneath him right now, his hips eager to seek friction, he’s already craving something more than a kiss. It’s a shame that he’s just as stubborn as you are, but then again, that’s what makes it more interesting for you. 

Your eyes travel down to his lips, lingering there for a moment to ensure he receives your message. When they traverse back to his cobalt blues, your lips parting in the shape of his name, his gaze darkens, permeated by nothing but the carnal desire he’s trying to rein in. Unfortunately for you, Jinwoo has played similar games in the past, and he’s committed to winning each time. This one, especially, is the one thing he’ll never allow himself to lose, keeping himself strong and unswayed no matter how much he longs to kiss your pout away. His victory over you would grant him the most satisfaction of all. He’s certain of it.

Jinwoo cups your cheek, his thumb playing with the edge of your mouth. He mimics what you did before, letting his gaze cascade to your lips, the soft breath of his whisper ghosting over them. Seduction colors every line of his face, every letter of the words he speaks. “Does my sweet wife want a kiss?”

‘A kiss? No, I don’t want a kiss. I want you to stick your tongue in my mouth’ is a thought you promptly dismiss the moment his smirk arises on his lips. “I don’t know. Does my annoying husband want one?” It surprises you that you can still muster something witty when he’s looking down at you like that, and seeing how he laughs slightly in response, it appears he feels the same way, too. 

“Maybe he does,” his mouth shadows your lobe, nipping lightly at the shell of your ear to remind you how thrilling it was to have his teeth grating against your skin, leaving marks that would set your heart on fire every time you caught your reflection in the mirror. “Maybe,” he continues as he wedges his leg between your own, pushing the end of your nightgown to your thighs, his knee pressed dangerously against the thin fabric of your lingerie. “He wants to have more than a kiss.”

Your breath hitches in your throat; the urge to just grind on his thigh threatens to consume you. Another layer of haughtiness paints his smile. He knows exactly the effects he has on you, and he wants you to act on it, to give in to your desire so he can finally do what he’s been craving to do all day. 

You won’t let that happen, not yet. “Mm, yeah, thought so.” You play high and mighty to put a cloak over your soaring heart, which only entertains him further. “So, what is he going to do about it?”

“Hmm… Why don’t you close your eyes and see?” He’s testing the water, checking to see if you’ll be an obedient pet for him, but this thought doesn’t spring to your mind, at least not immediately. 

Though you know you should fight it, your body yearns terribly for him. Just a kiss is fine, right? Everything else, you won’t make it so easy. Sinking into a moment of weakness, you shut your lids as requested, waiting. And as you do, you fail to see how pleased he looks, how your little act of submission adds another layer of desire to his gaze.

You can feel Jinwoo leaning down, closing the already imperceptible distance between you. His lips hover right above yours, the sweet caress of his breath skimming across your mouth and chin. You wait in anticipation, but the kiss never comes, not in the way you wanted it to be.

Instead of locking your lips together, your husband places a tiny, tiny kiss on the point of your nose, a peck similar to what your daughter often gives you. You snap your eyes open, squinting at him almost menacingly as you grumble, “You’re such a tease.”

“Am I?” Another chuckle breaks free from his throat, a spark of glee underneath the huskiness of his voice. “I asked what you wanted me to do for you, but you didn’t answer my question. I’m not a mind-reader, you know. If you want something, Sweetheart,” he pauses just to glide his thumb over your lips, his tongue peeking out slightly to wet his own pair as he gazes down at your inviting mouth. “You need to be a good girl and ask for it.”

Although your stomach flips in response, your mind refuses to accept defeat. You know what? Fine. You decide inwardly as you try to keep yourself collected. If he wants to do this, to toy with you as he pleases, then you’ll play with him all night long. “You’re right. A peck on the nose was exactly what I wanted,” you utter almost through gritted teeth. “You know me so well, Husband.”

His body vibrates slightly with mirth. “Well then, I’ll give you one more.” His grin presses against your skin as he presents you with another one, still the same stupid little peck on your nose. “And a little bit of this,” he nuzzles the tip of your noses together, acting cute. “To chase the pout away.” 

God, I hate him so much, you think, as your heart flutters for him, falling in love all over again. “I’m not pouting.”

“Sure, you aren’t, love,” he simpers as he plants a playful kiss on your head. Then, as if he wasn’t affected by the smothering sexual tension between you, Jinwoo falls back to the bed, settling himself right next to you. “Let’s chat for a bit before we go to sleep. I wanna hear you talk about your day.”

Before we go to sleep? You almost scoff. Oh, he’s completely messing with me. The worst thing is, you don’t hate it. You’re frustrated, sure, but you don’t hate it. He looks so incredibly young and boyish this way, the kind of juvenility that only you are allowed to see, judging from how stoic and composed he carries himself in public. 

Like him, you roll over to lie on your side, facing him with your sulk slowly fading. “My day is hardly any interesting compared to yours.” 

“Maybe not, but you are.” His wolfish grin has altered back into the usual smile he displays, charming and tender, brimming with affection. Wrapping his arms around your waist, Jinwoo draws you closer and lets you rest your head on his chest. “I want to know everything about you, Sweetheart. I want to see if there’s something I can help. How are you feeling? Did you get to eat much today?”

“Not really,” you answer, followed shortly by an enervated exhale. You nuzzle your face further into his chest, basking in his wonderful, comforting scent and the warmth that rivals your velvety duvet. His bare chest and the toned muscles beneath his flawless skin should’ve been distracting—they are, still, to some extent—but right now, the need to be cared for and spoiled by your husband surpasses the craving your body thirsts for. “Everything still makes me nauseous. I kept forcing myself to eat just to get something inside, but I ended up vomiting every time. I’ll keep trying, but… I just hope the supplements are enough to keep our baby healthy for now.”

He runs his palm up and down your spine, his face sketched with sympathy. “I wish I could find a way to stop it. I can only imagine how hard it is for you.”

“It’s fine.” You feel soothed, your muscles unwinding under his touch. “As long as our baby is okay, I’ll deal with anything. I’m scared, yes, but… I enjoy it, too. It’s part of being a mother.”

His gaze softens, shimmering with the gratefulness he feels for having someone like you as his wife. “You’ve done so well, Sweetheart.” He rewards you with a kiss, his smile plastered directly on the little spot between your brows. “I’m so proud of you,” he strokes the back of your head, an act of consolation you didn’t think you needed this badly.

Your spirit brightens, your body feels so much lighter as you embrace him close. Those words he spoke… They might have been simple, but you truly needed to hear them today. It feels amazing to have someone you can lean on, to listen to you without judging, to be proud of the sacrifices you make for your family. Jinwoo could’ve easily acted stoic and unsympathetic after witnessing the horrifying things he’d encountered in the dungeons, but with you, he never did. He understands your struggles, and he admires you for getting through them each time.

As you enjoy this moment of comforting silence, he whispers, “I’m sorry…”

“Hmm?” You lean your head back to capture his gaze, your hair brushing against his chin in the process. “For what?” 

“‘Cause I made you go through all of this again,” he gently brushes his knuckles against your cheekbone, gazing down at you with remorse. 

“You’re sorry ‘cause you got me pregnant?”

“Well… Yeah.”

Your hushed giggle fills the air. “You’re not sorry. You love getting me pregnant.”

If there was a blush blooming on his cheeks, he tried his best to conceal it. “I mean, yes, I do, but seeing you like this… I can’t help but feel bad about it.”

You snort. “You should apologize for almost breaking my back during our last session, not this.”

You can feel the vibration of his laughter directly from his chest, one that doesn’t last long.  “I’m sorry for that, too—though it will most definitely happen again.” Jinwoo returns a small distance between you, tilting your face up by the chin. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” There’s sincerity in his question, replacing the previous devilment in his eyes with concern.

“Thanks for the thought, honey.” You curl your fingers around his wrist as a feeble smile crawls back to your lips. “But no, I’ll be fine. It will pass, don’t worry.” You intertwine your fingers together, every space filled perfectly as if you were a set. “But if you want to make me feel better, why don’t you tell me what actually happened in the gate today? Not knowing the full story makes me anxious, and I don’t think that's good for our baby.” 

His soft titters ruffle your strands. “I’m sorry I made you worry, but really, everything is fine. All you have to know is that I’m safe, and I always will be.” Bringing your joined hands closer to his face, Jinwoo adorns the back of your hand with a reverent kiss. “I have you waiting for me to come home, don’t I? I’ve promised you once that I would return to you no matter what, and I’m a man of my word. Nothing can keep me away from you, Sweetheart.”

His tender tone pacifies you, but it’s never enough to completely excise your past traumatic memories of nearly losing him. “It wasn’t like the last time, was it? The beast that put those wounds on your chest?” 

“No, nothing like that,” he answers with haste, not wanting you to fret even further (it’s just a stupid game he plays to get your attention, after all). “It was just Beru.”

As if being summoned, the shadow soldier materializes out of thin air, still in the shape of a small, floating head. “M-My liege,” Beru greets, the pitch black, smoggy cloak around him quivers just as much as his voice. He hovers close to his summoner’s face, beseeching him for forgiveness. “I can no more bear this guilt within mine own chest. To make amends for mine sins, I shall taketh mine own life. Though I shall be reborn through thy mystic powers, the anguish must needs be worth the price of thy fair skin I have besmirched with these abominable hands. I shall end mine existence a hundredfold, nay, a thousandfold—”

“Can you not waste my mana, please?” Your husband sighs, breaking away from you with a frown. All the romantic tension he’s been building before to sweep you off your feet? Gone. “And what did I tell you about not snooping into my private moments?”

“Mine most humble apologies, my liege!” Beru panics, flying back and forth like a little ball of black flame in the soft, golden glow of your bedroom. “I hath but come hither to bid thee good night! Naught did I desire to intrude upon thy sacred, amorous moment with thy lady wife, most especially when thou hast longed for her gentle caress all the livelong day—”

Jinwoo slaps a hand over the ant’s mouth, his large palm nearly covering his entire face, grasping it hard enough for Beru to start mewling under his hold. His smile is nothing but menacing, a warning for the shadow to for the love of God, shut. the fuck. up. “Yes, yes, good night, Beru. Would that be all, or is there something else you wish to tell me?” Despite his sweet offer, Jinwoo tightens his clutch over his face. Shaking like a leaf and unable to speak, Beru shakes his head fervently, wanting nothing more than to flee the scene. “Good. Then, I suggest you take your leave. Now.” The necromancer then raises his voice a tad louder, sounding just as firm as he speaks his command. “Not just you. All of you.”

More floating heads emerge before you at once, cowering as they have been caught red-handed. You recognize them as the nameless, lower-ranked knights and mages whose enthusiasm for their master’s love life vies with Beru’s obsession. They hide themselves behind the Ant King, their faces painted with both guilt and horror. 

“Hie thee hence, ye peasants!” Beru shouts at his underlings the second his master releases him from his, quite literally, death grip. “Ye heard what our lord and savior hast spoken! Flee now! Pronto!”

They vanish as suddenly as they appeared, returning the two of you to silence’s embrace once more. Jinwoo throws his head back to the pillow, releasing what must have been his most exhausted sigh yet. “Sorry you had to see that,” he mutters as he massages the bridge of his nose. Not even an S-rank gate could make him feel as worn out as the antics his little shadows had pulled just now.

“It’s okay,” you chuckle. It’s heartwarming to see how close he is with his soldiers. Every single being in his army doesn’t just respect and fear him as their lord; they adore him as a family figure who cares for and protects them. Their curiosity for his love life was born out of fondness. They pray in their own way for their master to always be surrounded by joy as it delights their hearts just the same. Sure, they can be a little immature sometimes, but it’s part of the reason why they’ve become so endearing to you. “You know, I’m starting to think that they’re not your soldiers anymore. They’re your sons.”

“Honestly, that sounds about right.”

“Except Igris.”

“Except Igris, thank god.”

The way he looks so utterly grateful for it amuses you, but not as much as the fact that—if what Beru had said was true—your husband has been so blatantly yearning for your touch that even an ant could see it. “So,” you nestle close to him, using his arm as a pillow. “You’ve been thinking about me all day, huh?” A flirty twinkle veneers your eyes as your fingers absentmindedly draw circles on his chest, feeling him grow tense under your touch. “Did you get that cut because you were distracted during the raid, or did you get hurt on purpose to get my attention? Which one is it?”

A part of him was ready to drive Beru’s head into the ground for exposing him like that, but then again, as a lover, a friend, and a person he can call home, you're the only one who always sees right through him. It’s only a matter of time before you start figuring things out on your own, the way you always do. 

Does he feel embarrassed that you see right through his plans? Yeah, maybe a bit. Does he feel guilty about it? Sort of, yeah. But showcasing those feelings would be accepting defeat, and that’s not an option he can take. So, instead of coming clean, Jinwoo quickly replaces his shame with mischief, showcasing the naughtiest smirk on his lips. “And what if I was?” Jinwoo questions seductively, twining his fingers around your wrist. “Would you be flattered that I thought about you all day?”

Your reaction, however, is far from what he’s expected.

“Would I be flattered?” You flick him on his nose, earning a surprised flinch out of him. “You shouldn’t have gotten distracted during the fight—it could’ve been dangerous! Thank goodness it was just a cut, but what if it was worse? What if it was life-threatening? Also, why do you still have that in the first place? Can’t you just heal it with potion?”

He enjoys this. There’s nothing cuter to him than the way you look when you’re upset. It just makes him want to tease you even more. “Maybe I want my wife to kiss it better,” he replies, an elfin grin blooming on his lips, one that you scrape off almost immediately by grabbing his face, your thumb and index finger digging into his cheeks.

“Do not try to flirt your way out of this, Sung Jinwoo. I’m very angry at you right now.” No, you’re not, not really. After all, there was no harm done. But still, you need to get your point across because otherwise, his dumbass would keep doing it.

Now that you’ve refused to give him a kiss, his plan backfires. Sighing in defeat after you release him, he reveals the truth with a slight jut of his bottom lip. “Fine. The truth is, no, I wasn’t distracted during the fight because I was never in one to begin with. I just stood there on the sideline, waiting for my shadows to clear the gate for me.”

“And what were you doing exactly? You can’t just simply be standing there, Jin. You’re an S-rank hunter.”

“Uhh…” He begins to sweat, one finger scratching his cheek as he tries to come up with an excuse. “I was busy, umm… thinking.”

“Not about me naked, surely.”

He blushes. He actually blushes. “Of course not. I was trying to come up with a plan. Another raid is coming soon. I want to find a strategy to do my next mission more efficiently.”

“Mm, sounds like bullshit, but okay. So, how did you get the cut?”

He racks his brain as best as he can. Nothing comes up. He does it a second time. Still, nothing comes up. The truth, it is, then. “Well, like you said, I wanted to get your attention, so—”

“I swear to God, Jinwoo, if you said you did that to yourself…” You don’t even bother to finish the sentence. He knows what you mean, and he knows exactly what you’re capable of in terms of disciplining him. No weapons and hunters could harm him in this world, but being deprived of your touch? Of your kiss? Now, that’s torture.

“Not… exactly like that,” he answers, his eyes straying away from your own.

Then, it clicks. “You asked Beru to hit you, didn’t you?”

Bullseye. He’s completely avoiding your gaze now. Only silence answers you, but that, itself, is the evidence you need.

“Unbelievable. That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” And yet, you find yourself giggling even before you can finish your sentence, the sound airy and pretty, a perfect symphony to his ears. The whole image of Beru, who was most likely crying as he obeyed his master's command, punching him in the face just because your husband wanted your attention is just downright ridiculous to you.

Jinwoo's eyes droop in fondness, his chest overflowing with the affection he holds for you. You seem so carefree and light at this moment, your face relaxed as if you hadn’t been weighed down by the stress that’s consumed you all day. He keeps himself quiet as he watches you laugh, his heart missing a beat.

“There it is. My favorite sound in the world,” he smiles so endearingly at you, so breathtakingly gorgeous, it causes your stomach to twist and churn at the sight of God’s most perfect masterpiece. “I was worried that I wasn’t going to hear it today since all you’d been doing was scolding me.”

“And whose fault do you think that is?” you reply with a light poke to his abdomen, his soft chuckles intermingling with yours in the close space between your mouths. “I can’t believe you went through all that for me.”

He captures your hand, bestowing a soft kiss on the ridges of your knuckles. “It’s worth the price.” He looks so dreamy like this, picture-perfect, a handsome prince with a devilish grin. 

“I’m gonna have to apologize to Beru on your behalf.” You watch how pretty the rosy shade of his lips looks upon your skin, entranced. That, too, is picture-perfect. “You can’t keep torturing him like that, Jin. Just how many times has it been already? He’s just a kid.”

“Do that later.” He places your hand on his cheek, his stare so soft, it’s almost imploring. “Spoil me first.” Your lover sinks his face in the dip of your palm, nuzzling against it with his eyes closed. “I may have been a bit naughty today, yes, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t work hard during the raid.”

“You just said you were doing nothing but standing there while picturing me naked.”

“But I’ve missed you." He resorts to his ultimate weapon, winning your heart with his raspy voice and his pleading eyes. “I miss you so much, baby… Don’t you miss me?” 

The longing sigh, the soft blush plating his cheeks, the glimmering blue eyes—he’s cute, so cute, which is such a weird thing to say as you never thought that he and the word cute could belong in the same sentence. Who cares if he's gaslighting you now, right? He’s pretty.

“God, what am I going to do with you?” You mutter, followed by a playful roll of your eyes. With a doting smile coating your lips, you spread your arms for him. “Come here.”

Jinwoo wastes no time, burying his face in your chest and holding you so tightly that he almost steals all the air in your lungs. You laugh, the sweet, hushed sound reserved only for his ears to hear. “Big baby,” you croon, cradling his head close. He pays no heed to anything anymore. You can call him whatever he wants; he no longer cares. No, the Gods can burn down the world to ashes right now, and he’d still refuse to leave your embrace. He’s finally home, where he belongs, and he just wants to submerge himself in this moment and memorize every detail—the sound of your breathing, the beats that your heart sings, this sweet serenity you bring him, the warmth and the softness of your skin, the scent that intoxicates him with both love and desire—everything.

He wishes that you’d let him stay like this for a while, while you beg the heavens to let you have this moment forever. It makes you feel worthy, special, needed, to be the only one in this universe who can offer him this sense of solace. 

You card your fingers through his hair, his raven strands smoother than silk. And when you brush a tender kiss on his forehead, he lets out a soft sigh, relieved and contented, as if a single kiss from you managed to wash away all the burden the world had bestowed upon his shoulders. 

Jinwoo closes his lids, letting you stroke his hair like a child. He relishes the intimacy as your scent fills him, grateful for the comfort you offer him simply by just being here in his embrace. 

Seconds pass by, a company to his steady breathing. Guided by the quietude of your bedroom, your thoughts begin to wander. “Jinwoo…”

“Hmm?”

“These foster kids of yours,” you begin with a joke. “What do they think of me?”

His eyes slowly flutter open as a smile ornaments his lips. “Let's see... The knights think of you as their queen,” he says, his voice slightly muffled by the skin that covers your heart. “The mages think of you as a goddess that needs to be worshipped, which is honestly true,” he flirts, as smoothly as always. “The ants see you as their mother, and Kaisel loves you like a pet loves its owner. You can tell by how much he wags his tail when he’s around you, right?”

“Right,” you reply fondly, recalling the way the wyvern always bows his head low before you, his tail swaying back and forth as he waits for your gentle hands to pet his scales. “What about Iron?”

“Iron thinks you’re a great cook. He loves the cookies you baked for him before. He did not like the ones our daughter made him.” You exchange soft laughter with your husband. The memory of your daughter stuffing a dozen burnt cookies into the warrior’s mouth never failed to tickle your stomach. 

“Beru…” Jinwoo continues, humming lowly as he mulls about it. “Well, Beru admires you for being the only person who can put me in my place. And he thinks of you as, and I quote, the worthy bearer of my king’s seeds, so he—”

“Yes, I’ve heard about that already, thanks,” you mutter. Hearing that title the second time doesn’t make it any less mortifying. “And Igris? Does he ever talk about me?”

For a moment, Jinwoo turns hushed, uncertain if he should reveal the truth. “Igris… thinks of you as my biggest weakness,” he murmurs, causing you to stiffen in response. He runs a hand down your backside, reassuring you before he elaborates further. “He thinks you’re the one thing that I can’t live without. He worries about your safety constantly, knowing that I would be as good as dead if you weren't there with me. He cares about you as much as I do. He’s even sworn to protect you with his life.” 

With how quiet and tender these words flow past his lips, you can tell that he doesn’t simply reiterate Igris’ words. They come from the bottom of his heart, too. You tighten your hold around him, burying your nose in his hair. “I’ll always be safe, I promise.”

“I’ll make sure you are,” he vows, shutting his lids and sinking into your embrace once more, thankful for this moment.

“Tell Igris I said thank you, okay?”

“No need, baby. He already knows.”

He does? Oh… Right. “He’s always with you, huh? Every one of your soldiers.”

“Since they’re connected to my shadow, yeah. They’re part of me now.”

“And they… can see and hear everything that’s going on between us?”

Jinwoo blinks before a peal of his deep laughter reverberates to your skin, tickling the dip of your cleavage. You can tell he already knows where you’re going with this. “Mm-hmm, they have their eyes and ears everywhere.” 

“Always?”

“Always.” He pulls away just enough to take a good look at you, a little smile playing on his lips. “What is it? Are you worried they might be watching us right now?”

“A little bit,” you answer reluctantly, feeling rather childish for even bringing this topic out in the open. You’ve been with the Shadow Monarch for years. Surely, his shadows must have seen everything by now, and yet… You can’t help but long for a moment of privacy. Tonight, especially. “I know you just told them to disappear, but they can still hear us, can’t they? They can close their eyes when you tell them to, but it’s not like they can control their hearing, right?”

“That’s right.” He’s not bothered by it in the slightest. If anything, it amuses him. “They can still hear us, yes, but there’s nothing to worry about. They’re very loyal to me, and they respect my privacy more than anything. They know better than to listen in on our private moments.” 

“Beru and his gang literally popped out a minute ago.” 

“Yeah, but that’s Beru.” He speaks of him as if the Ant King were this stubborn child that he’d given up to control a long time ago. “They’re gone now.” Seeing how your focus is still somewhere else, he gently grabs your face, trapping your gaze and holding it still. “You’re thinking about them when you should’ve been focusing on me—your husband who’s been craving for your attention all day. You’re breaking my heart, Princess.”

“I want to focus on you, darling; that’s why I’m asking you this. There’s something I want to do with you, and knowing that they can hear us, I… can’t help but feel a bit…” Your voice shrinks to a murmur as fire licks your cheeks. “…embarrassed.”

Jinwoo examines you for a moment, taking in the way you turned flushed so adorably as you spoke your words. “And here I thought you couldn’t get any cuter,” he comments, adoring you. “I could ask them to go on another patrol if that could make you feel better. You just want us to be alone, right?”

You answer with a nod. He can sense the guilt that radiates off you for asking something so selfish. “All right,” he assures you with a light kiss on the top of your head. “Give me a second.” 

They begin to gleam, his irises, switching from sapphires into brilliant amethyst as his magic power exudes. He then closes his eyes, spending a brief moment to spread a mental command to his soldiers. By the time his lids flicker open, they’ve returned to the gentle cobalts that you’ve grown to cherish more than anything. “There. They’re gone now.”

“All of them?”

“All of them. I asked Igris to keep them in check, just in case.”

“Thank you,” you breathe out in relief, tension leaving your body. “Sorry for asking you this. I didn’t mean to be so selfish, but…”

“It’s no problem, baby.” Your husband runs his hand gently down your naked arm, enjoying the soft feel of your skin under his fingertips. “I know how important privacy is to you. And don’t worry, they’ll be gone until I summon them back. We have this moment all to ourselves now. That being said…” Like a snake shedding its skin, his previous soft smile morphs into a naughty smirk. “What is it that you’re planning to do to me that you don’t want my shadow soldiers to know?”

“Nothing.” And yet, you can’t seem to look at him in the eyes. “I, umm… I just wanted to ask you some questions.” 

His fingers have now slid down to your thigh, gliding against the satin of your nightgown. “Dirty questions?”

“J-just questions.”

“Hmm,” he purrs in dissatisfaction. The sound so sultry, it elevates your heart rate by tenfold. “Can’t say I’m not a little bit disappointed by that, Sweetheart. Will I, at least, get a reward if I agree?”

“I mean, you can ask me anything you want, too. I’ll answer them honestly.”

“Anything?”

You’re already regretting it, even now. You didn’t think it would be a big deal for him, but knowing Jinwoo… Of course, he’ll take every opportunity he can get to rile you up in the best way possible. “Anything… I guess…”

He snickers at your uncertainty. “Well, I’d be a fool to refuse that.” A little glimpse of his fangs grace your eyes as he grins, already looking so pleased and confident to play your game. “You better live up to your words, Sweetheart. Or, don’t, it’s up to you. I’ll be enjoying this in one way or another because if you run away, I’ll have a reason to punish you.”

It feels like you’re already losing before you even begin. God, this whole thing is a mistake, isn't it? “I-I’ll go first. If you could only keep one shadow soldier for the rest of your life, and another one for me, who would you choose?”

His whole expression changes. Saying that he looks utterly dissatisfied by it would be an understatement. “That’s your question? Really?”

Okay, that might have been a little boring, but— “I’m curious about who your favorite shadow is, sue me. And don’t look at me like that, Jinwoo, I already said I wouldn’t ask you anything dirty. And you better not, too!”

“Can’t promise you that, my love,” he tosses another smirk toward your direction. “Well, let’s see…” To your surprise, he takes a moment to ponder to himself. You realize as you examine his expression that he holds every soldier in his army dearly, caring for them just the same. Asking him this question carries the same weight as asking a parent who their favorite child is. “I think I’d take Igris,” Jinwoo answers after a while. “Not only is he strong, he was the first high-rank shadow I obtained, so he’s special to me in a way. He’s also the most loyal, most responsible out of everyone else. I trust him with my life if it comes down to it.”

“I thought you’d say it would be a tie between him and Beru.”

He smiles, happy to see how you could predict his answer perfectly. “That’s true, and that’s why I’m choosing him, too. For you.”

“You’d give me Beru? Even though he praises you non-stop, worships you like a God?”

“That’s exactly why I’m assigning him to you,” he grimaces at the thought. “Igris is more serious and mature. Personality-wise, he suits me better. I like the fact that he doesn’t talk much, and yet he knows me better than anyone else. I would enjoy the comforting silence between us, the way I always have. Beru, on the other hand, is much more… enthusiastic. He’s got a lot of personality and can be a little high-maintenance. I have no doubt you two would get along and be trouble together. You both drive me crazy.”

You find hilarity in his words. “Beru would cry if he heard about this.”

“He won’t. He loves you just the same. He has a statue of you in the shadow realm—I’ve told you about that, right?”

“You have.” And you would’ve chuckled at that had a grim thought never occurred in your mind, but it did, and now it’s all you can think about. You try to refrain yourself from asking, but your curiosity swells faster than you can control your tongue. “Jinwoo, when I die… Will you turn me into your shadow soldier? Or would you just let me go and bury me?”

Your husband freezes at the question, the humor gone from his face. The abrupt change of topic leaves him with his tongue tied, but the second your question sinks in, his answer is immediate. “You’re not going to die.” 

He states it like a fact, indisputable, and it pains you a little to press him further on this, but you must know. “Everyone will die eventually—”

“Not you.” The firmness in his tone stuns you, silencing you at once. “I won’t let you die. I'll do everything in my power to save you. You’re mine. Nothing will ever change that. You will always be with me, right here in my arms, just like this.” His hold is possessive, perhaps even selfish, but beneath all that, his heart races when you place your palm over his chest as if merely the thought of losing you scares him to death. 

You alleviate your voice, pacifying him with a gentle caress to his cheek. “It’s just a hypothetical question, darling… I’m just curious, that’s all.”

His mood has changed completely, the same way the tension between you turns palpable after your question rings in the air. “It’s not something I want to think about.”

Regret starts to feast on your heart, causing you to feel remorseful for bringing this topic to the table. “I’m sorry…” You kiss his lips once, hoping it will ease whatever storm rages in his chest, if only for a little. “I’ll rephrase the question, okay? Have you ever wondered about having me as your shadow? Even if it was only a fleeting thought, did that possibility ever occur to you?”

His jaw remains clenched tight. Altering the words doesn’t change the fact that you still die in this scenario, and he won’t allow himself to walk down that path, even if it is only an imaginary situation. “I would never turn you into a shadow.” Jinwoo doesn’t answer whether he has thought about it or not. All he informs you is the decision he had made many, many years ago. “You’re not a possession. You're a person—my person. And as much as I love the idea of having you by my side forever, it would be the worst thing. Losing your humanity and free will… I could never do that to you.“

You nibble on your bottom lip. His sincerity, the way his voice quivers a little when he utters his words, they bring joy to you, spreading warmth to your every nerve. But even so, you cannot deny that there’s a part of you that turns crestfallen from his answer. The same side of you that thinks: 

So… he’d rather let me go forever than have a part of me with him..? 

“You’re so kind, aren’t you?” You say in a voice barely above a whisper, your heart weighing you down like an anchor. “If I were you… If I had the power to make you stay when God takes you away from me… I would’ve turned you into my shadow without a second thought. That’s just how much I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I know it’s selfish, I know it’s cruel, and I know you won’t be the same person as you are now, but… I just can’t imagine a life without you.”

His expression softens as he takes in your words, his joy unfolding like a flower at the thought of you ready to defy the Gods just to be with him. But you don’t own this power. You don’t know how terrifying it could be, the consequences it brings, the darkness that surrounds him, the sins that gnaw at his humanity. 

“Sweetheart, listen…” Jinwoo brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers gently stroking your cheek. “The truth is… I have thought about it. I think I’ve mentioned it before—how scared I am of losing you. I dread every second that passes by when you’re not standing next to me, so, yes, of course, I’d considered that possibility before, more times than I’d like to admit. It’s the only way I know to keep you with me, as of now. But each time the thought popped into my head, the more I came to realize that… I could never do that to you. I won’t take away your freedom, your personality, your desire… If you became my shadow, you wouldn’t be able to talk to me, and you’d be bound to obey my command no matter what.”

“But Beru can talk to you. That means I can do it too one day, right?”

“Beru can talk because he’s a high-rank soldier. If you were turned into one, you wouldn’t be, and you wouldn’t get any chance to increase your rank because I would never allow you to go to battle. I wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of you getting hurt. And then you’d start feeling that you lost your purpose, not being able to serve me the way my other soldiers could. And I’d be constantly worried to death, not knowing what you were thinking. I’d start wondering if you truly felt happy that I resurrected you, or if you felt trapped with me, that you wished to move on.”

It only dawns on you, then, just how much your husband has thought about this through. You might have asked him out of curiosity, but Jinwoo already thinks about it as a possibility, one that he chooses to decline no matter what. The pain of losing you would strike deeper than a javelin through the chest, but he’d rather carry that wound for eternity than be shackled by the guilt of turning his beloved into anything but human.  

He draws you toward him, eliminating every inch of space between you. “I love you,” he whispers near your ear, his face twisted in agony. His arms ensnare you by the shoulders, embracing you so closely as if you’d vanish into thin air if he weren’t holding onto you tightly enough. “I love you so much, Sweetheart. I would do anything to keep you safe. I’d die a thousand deaths just to protect you, so please… Don’t talk about leaving me.”

You feel tears filling your sockets before you know it, and you can blame your pregnancy hormones for it, but you know you wouldn’t have felt this way if it wasn’t for the heartbreak in his voice. “I’m sorry…” You wrap your arms around him, your voice a quivering murmur as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry I brought this up…”

“It’s all right.” He kisses your temple, his hand skating up and down your spine. “I know you were just curious.”

You're grateful that you can keep your tears from breaking. You pull away, doleful. “I completely ruined the mood, huh?”

He chuckles softly. “No, you didn’t. Come here.” Guiding you toward him, your husband raises himself to sit on the bed, his back leaning against the headboard as he gathers you in his lap.  “You okay?”

You answer with a weak nod. 

You’re not okay, not really, he can tell. Jinwoo tucks a few loose strands of your hair behind your ear, his smile soft with a hint of melancholy. He hopes a little chaff would lighten the tension. “So, Miss Necromancer. You’d turn me into your shadow in a heartbeat, huh?”

“Well, no, not anymore,” you pout a little. “I understand how you feel now. I wouldn’t want something like that to happen to you, too.”

“Well, that’s disappointing. I was wishing you’d stay selfish.” He settles his hands on the curve of your hips, eliciting fire upon your skin even with your nightgown staying in between. “I’m strong, you know. If you turned me into your shadow, I would be able to talk to you just like this. I could protect you. I could always be with you, hidden in your shadow. And we could do so, so many things together. Fun things.”—his words skate over the shell of your ear—“Dirty things.”—his lips moving lower to brush a featherlight kiss to the spot below your lobe—“Wherever we want.”—down to your jawline—“Anytime we want.”—to your neck—“However we want.” He ends his journey with a wet kiss on your bare shoulder, his tongue pressing flat against your skin, his teeth scraping deep enough to make you squirm but far from bruising you.

You giggle amidst your tattered breaths. “You sound so happy about it.”

“Of course I do, baby.” His smirk grows. “You want me to be with you for eternity. I’ve never felt so wanted.” He leans close, his lips a mere inch away from yours. “Do you still have depressing questions to ask, or can I entertain you with the things I’d do to you if I became your shadow?” Unlike him, who can easily put a veil on his troubled emotions for the sake of your happiness, your worry still shows no matter how much you try to conceal it. Noticing that, he cups your cheek. “What is it?”

You shake your head, forcing out a smile. “Nothing.”

He can see right through it, knowing that you’re holding back for his sake. Kissing you briefly on the lips, he says, “Go ahead and ask, love. It’s all right.”

Your hesitation halts you for another second before you choose to come clean. “Since you said you wouldn’t turn me into your shadow… If I di—if something happened to me,” you quickly correct yourself. “And I could no longer be with you… Would you ever consider… remarrying someone else?”

He stops. “What?”

“B-because, you know—our daughter will need a mother figure and I… I don’t want you to feel lonely and…” You start to panic, cursing yourself internally for being such a fucking idiot. Yes, you were curious about it, but still—what the hell was that question?! Perhaps it was born out of your desperation to be consoled. You understand clearly how your husband chooses to honor your death instead of keeping your soul trapped with him, and yet, loneliness shrouds you, still. This is you seeking some form of reassurance. This is you trying to heal the thought of being separated, of being… left behind. It’s pathetic, you know that, and now that the words have flown past your mouth, you feel a hundred times worse. “N-never mind. I was being stupid, I’m sorry.”

As you twist restlessly on his lap, your face burning with shame, Jinwoo watches you with nothing but solemnity written in his eyes. He doesn’t laugh at you, nor does he find this situation amusing in the slightest. If you think he’d move on with his life after your death—if you think there’s even a tiny part of him that could forget you, the center of his universe, you’re awfully mistaken.

He holds your face with one hand, his touch possessive, his eyes intense, filled with promise. “I would never marry anyone else.” The resolution in his voice stops your heart. “No one could ever replace you, Sweetheart, you know that. And our daughter…” He pauses. He knows that a mother’s role in a family is crucial, and he doubts he could fill your shoes no matter how hard he tries, but he just can’t accept having someone else in his heart, in his home, when she doesn’t own your face,  your personality, your sweet kiss, your gentle touch, your everything. “I would do anything for her. I would give her all my love, everything I could offer. But I promise you, I would never remarry. You’re the only one for me. You always have, and you’ll always be, even if you were—” He chokes on the word, his voice turning quieter when he continues, “…no longer here with me.”

The same quiver that runs through your fingertips now dances on your lips. “You’re the only one for me, too…”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to remind himself that none of this scenario is true, nor will it happen anytime soon. No, he’ll never allow it to happen. He’ll find a way to save you, even if it means sacrificing his own life for it. 

The kiss ends, but none of you finds the will to break free from each other’s embrace, his voice low and cracking with emotion when he speaks. “You're the only one who’s been in my heart and mind. You're everything to me. Nothing could ever change that, Sweetheart. Nothing.”

“I know,” you plant a chaste kiss on his lips once more. “I feel the same way. And I figured you’d say that, but… I just wanted to hear it in person.”

He mirrors your smile, just as tender, understanding that some feelings are meant to be spoken as a promise to chase away all fears and doubts in your chest. “And did I answer it well?”

“You answered it perfectly.” You tilt your head slightly to the side, brushing your lips against the dip of his palm. “Thank you, Jin. No more depressing questions, I promise.”

He feels lighter, his face much more relaxed. “No more depressing questions,” he echoes with a playful smile. “What’s up with all the negative thoughts? You were being all playful before.”

“I’m sorry,” you heave a heavy sigh. “It’s just the pregnancy hormones talking, I guess. You know how it is. I can feel like I wanna bawl my eyes out one second, then beat someone to a pulp the next.”

“If those are the only two options available, let's go with crying. You look pretty when you cry.”

Grabbing him by his jaws, you narrow your eyes playfully at him. "I don’t know, Husband, option two sounds really good right now.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles in relief, seeing you return to the person you were before. He takes your hand away, intertwining it together with his own. “Is it my turn to ask questions now?”

“Hmm, not yet. One more question, and then you can go.”

“So demanding,” he scrunches his nose cutely. “All right, ask me.” 

It only takes a second for you to ponder. “What is the one thing I do that you like the most?”

“One thing you do?” He pretends to ruminate just to tease, elevating the suspense. With one corner of his lips tilting higher than the other, he plays with the thin strap of your nightgown, twisting it around his finger before he moves closer. “You want me to be completely honest with you, baby girl?”

Shivers run through you as his hot breath skims over your collarbone, the tip of his nose brushing against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “O-of course.”

“Hmm…” You can almost feel his mouth on your neck as he purrs, but he doesn’t kiss you there just yet, maintaining the infinitesimal space between his lips and your skin to drive you crazy. “I think I love it when…” He kneads the supple flesh of your thigh. “You’re so needy for me.”

You nearly flinch when he, without warning, clasps his mouth firmly against the side of your throat. The way his deep, husky voice vibrates on your skin, the lightest touch of his tongue against your pulsating vein—it’s starting to be a bit too much. “N-Needy? I don’t think I’ve ever acted that way before.”

“Oh, really?” Your husband pulls away with one of his eyebrows raised, a little amused that you’re denying it. His hand slithers around your waist, his nails raking against the fabric, so eager to tear it apart. “You've never been needy, Sweetheart? Never once asked me to pay attention to you, touch you, hold you, make you feel good?”

You gulp, face aflame. “No…” Seeing how your answer doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest, you divert the topic. “Why do you even like it when I’m being needy anyway?”

He reciprocates with a sly smirk, his eyes traversing down from your neck, your collarbone, to your cleavage before he flicks them back to your face. Still with his smirk intact, his voice turns low and dark, dripping with desire. “Because I love knowing that you want me. I love having that power over you. The knowledge that you need me, crave my touch, that I can give you pleasure and take care of you. It drives me mad.”

His gaze locks onto your face, taking a moment to appreciate your beauty, the changes in your expression, and the anticipation in your eyes. “Besides…” Two of his lean fingers trace your jawline before they rest on your chin, lifting it up to take a more thorough look at your features. You appear so innocent under the soft, golden glow of your night light, so adorable and pretty, almost doll-like, and it awakens something primal within him. Something that he’s afraid he won’t be able to tame should you continue staring at him like this. “Do you know how cute you look when you want me to touch you? When you’re whining and begging for me to give you what you want?”

You can’t form a word, hypnotized under his gaze, controlled even before he begins pulling on your strings. He traps your chin, tugging it low enough for you to part your lips for him. “And this face you’re making right now…” He breathes out heavily as lust starts to coat his irises. “I want to ruin you so badly.” He’s already thinking about it, to run his tongue across the seam of your lips before he pushes it inside, tasting you, devouring you. “I want to make a mess out of you, to mark you as mine in places that everyone can see.” 

A certain glow in his eyes causes the soft hairs on your nape to rise. Every nerve of your body pleads for his touch, but he won’t grant your wish just yet. “But I have to be patient, don’t I, Sweetheart?” Jinwoo continues with a glimpse of cockiness written on his lips, knowing he already has you dancing in the palm of his hand. “After all, the game just started. Although…” He leans close, his lips barely touching your ear as he speaks hushedly. “I doubt I could resist it if my sweet girl starts acting all needy for me now.”

You force out a scoff even when your body is eager to have his taste in your mouth. “You wish.”

He simpers at your reaction, entertained by your desperate attempt to mask embarrassment. “Don’t try to deny it, love. I can see right through you. The way you’re clenching your legs together” —his hand grips your thigh, fingers pressing deep into your skin— “the way you bite your lip,” he kisses you, catching your lower lip between his own. He keeps it brief, just the lightest of bites and the purest of kisses, but the soft, sultry moan he makes on purpose is anything but innocent. “You’re already getting needy, aren’t you?”

Your stomach somersaults at how his smirk breaks so naturally, so seductively on his lips. Afraid you’ll succumb to your desire, you push a hand to his face, returning the safe space between you. “Your turn to ask me now.”

Jinwoo lets out a small laugh at your childish act, gently prying your hand away from him. “Someone’s avoiding the question,” he says, amused. “All right, my turn. I’m going to make sure you answer mine, okay, Sweetheart?”

The subtle threat only excites you. “Okay. Just don’t ask anything weird. Or perverted.”

Your husband chuckles, diving his head back to the dip of your neck again. He tugs on your strap with his teeth, his hand now brazenly glides over your chest, feeling the way your sensitive bud hardens under the satin but leaving it ignored—for now. “But you’d like the perverted ones, wouldn’t you?” His grin blooms on your skin before he places a warm, open-mouthed kiss on your clavicle. Your fingers clench into fists, doing everything you can to suppress your moan. When he breaks away, he carries himself nonchalantly as if he didn’t just grind his teeth against your skin a second ago. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll behave,” he finishes with a coquettish grin. “For your sake.”

“J-Just give me the damn question.”

“Patience is a virtue, my love. Let me think for a second. I don’t want to come up with something… boring.” His gaze turns playful when it meets yours, referring to your earlier question.

“Are you making fun of me again?”

“Me? Make fun of you? Never,” he coos as his smirk proves otherwise. “If you could change one part of my body, what would it be? But, of course, if you think everything is perfect, you can say that, too.”

You send him a flat stare. “Your dick. Would’ve liked it better if it was bigger.”

He laughs out loud at your answer, his seductive smirk morphing into a perfect view of his marbled teeth. He appears so young like this, refreshing and sweet. “Oh, baby, you know I don’t lack in that area, don’t you? If you were saying something about my face, I would’ve believed you, but that…” He snorts in amusement. “Come on now.”

“Oh, you’re so annoying.” You throw a playful jab at his stomach. Well, it is true that he’s packing more than necessary down there, but… You’re not going to give him that satisfaction, are you? “Where does this confidence even come from?”

He chuckles, catching your hand. “Of course, I’m confident. After all…” His fingers slide past your elbow, up to your shoulder, traveling over soft skin until they cup the side of your neck. His thumb rubs over your lips, his eyes misted with desire when he says, “You look too satisfied most of the time. If not, always.”

You can feel his digit applying pressure on your lips, wanting you to take his finger inside and give him a preview of what you can do with your mouth later when he makes you drop to your knees. You curl your hand around his wrist, a quick reminder for him to behave. “Maybe it’s just because you’re good at using it, not because of the size itself.”

Jinwoo smiles almost wickedly, his eyes gleaming in the dimness of your bedroom. “Careful now. I’m gonna get cocky.”

“I’m not complimenting you, dummy. I’m trying to make an argument!”

Your attitude only amuses him further. “Oh, no, Sweetheart, I can tell you’re complimenting me. Don’t worry, I know I’m the best. And I know you know that, too.”

You roll your eyes despite your heart thrashing against your ribcages in response. “Next question.”

“Is my dick really your final answer?”

“Next!”

He chortles, as deep and as soft as he speaks. He can honestly play with you like this for hours. Watching you turn flustered, all fidgety and cute, solely because of him… That’s the kind of satisfaction he seeks after a long day. “You know there's a consequence you need to pay for not answering that one honestly, right? I’m starting to think maybe you want to be punished.” 

Yes. Yes. Yes. God, yes. “Of course not,” you scoff. “I just don’t feel like answering ‘cause you’re being annoying.”

“Changing the rules as you please, huh? That does sound like you. Always not playing fair.” But he likes it. Oh, he loves it when you’re not playing fair. It gives him more reasons to teach you a lesson afterward. “Fine, if you’re so stubborn about it, then I’ll ask you this: if you had to choose one of my features to keep, what would it be?”

A question like this again? Is he fishing for compliments? That’s a bit cute, you can’t lie, seeing how he’s so needy for your praise. Unfortunately, you have a role to play and a facade to maintain. “That’s hardly any different.” You exaggerate your complaint with a snort. “Why can’t you just ask me what I want to have for my birthday or something?”

“Because I already know what you want,” he replies with a cock of his head. Arrogance has never looked this good on a man before. 

“You do?” You don't think you’ve ever given any clues about what you want for your present this year.

“Mm-hmm. And I can’t wait to show it to you.” Lifting you by the waist, he shifts your weight until you stand on your knees before him, his face now on the same level as your chest. He tugs on your strap, watching it slide off your shoulder until it pools around your elbow. Hungry eyes feast on your exposed skin, one side of your chest caressed by the cold air before the heat takes over in the shape of his hand. 

Jinwoo kneads your supple mound in his large palm, his fingers squeezing, teasing, itching to do more as desire mists his gaze. He encloses his mouth firmly around your breast, groaning softly at the taste of your skin on his tongue. The vibration runs straight south to your core, almost making you writhe when he combines it with a gentle nip of his teeth.

“In fact, I’ll give it to you all day, baby,” he suckles on your chest, tongue flicking against your protruding tip. “All night.” He moves to plant a wet, lingering kiss on the underside, breaking goosebumps along your skin. “I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world, you’ll see.”

Your breathing quickens under his ministration, your fingers grasping tightly against the roots of his hair as he maps his way to your other breast. You feel so much more sensitive today, your toes curling even from the lightest suck of your bud. Is it because he hasn’t touched you in a while? Or perhaps your pregnancy? You honestly can’t care less. “My birthday present—ah—It’s not s-sex, is it?”

He chuckles a moment before he unclasps his mouth. A smear of red rose blooms upon your skin, ready to turn purple by the morning. “No, honey, it’s not sex,” he looks up with his head tilted slightly to the side, staring at you with stray hairs falling over his pretty eyes, his gaze as titillating as his sultry smile. “Could be, if you want to.”

You chew on your lip. You can play hard to get as always, but you know nothing drives him faster to the edge than you acting so docile and submissive for him. This game of push-and-pull has been going on for a while. It should be about time you have a little fun of your own, right? “I think I’d like that, too… To have you as my present.”

It stuns him for a second, your confession. His eyes darken, turning as pitch-black as the sky that’s been deprived of its jewels. 

Jinwoo draws a shaky breath, his grip on your waist growing alarmingly tight. He wants to describe it, all the filthy things he wants to do to you, but he knows if he just lets one slip out—when he’s already in the state of losing his sanity—he’ll end up demonstrating each one of them right here, right now. And you’re trying to keep this game innocent, aren't you? Is there a reason why? 

He can see the desire in your eyes, the need to be with him, but just how far are you willing to go? Just how far can he touch you, be rough with you? He needs you to start it first, to give him more than just a sign. He wants to make sure that you’re ready. Until then, until he can hear you say what it is that you desire, he’ll respect this boundary between you, no matter how thin it is. He won’t cross it till you beg him for it.

But… A filthy thought resurfaces, tugging on the corner of his lips. A little poke can’t hurt.

***

[ceilidho]

I’ve been watching Spartacus with my dad and I must share with you the vision I had.

Gladiator 141 and the sweet little thing they got as a reward after a fight well fought.

this is very old:

Sometimes he spends as much as an hour staring at you through the bars of your cell. 

You haven’t yet worked up the nerve to say something to him. Not while he still wears the silver-plated galea that obscures most of his face. You can still see thin lips through the middle slit of his helmet, where the cheek plates don’t meet and the thin strip running down the bridge of his nose gives way to his philtrum, and the barest slivers of dark eyes. 

Apart from his helmet, he wears little else—sometimes the customary leather pteruge around his waist or a simple tunic belted at the waist. Nothing that would hinder his movements. It keeps the bulk of him on display. A prized fighter then, you surmise, as if the helmet weren’t enough to make that known. 

He still gleams bronze from his fights under the sun. Perhaps he’s counted at least a full hand’s worth this week alone. He comes to you sometimes after those very fights, still dripping sweat and prowling the length of your cell like one of the lions kept beneath the arena. You never know what to say to him then. There’s little you can do apart from curl up into yourself in the far corner of this cell you’ve come to know as a temporary home and eye him warily. 

It’s hard to reckon with the size of him. That’s what keeps you wary, watchful of him when he comes to keep you company for reasons unbeknownst to you. He hasn’t made them known yet, in any case. 

There isn’t an augur to warn you the day he chooses to speak. 

“Where'd they take you from, pretty bird?”

You flinch at the sound of his voice. It comes from the pure depths of him, Tartarus deep. You think it would take nine days for it to reach you, like a bronze anvil falling alongside it. In the days that he’s spent at your side, haunting the length of your cell like a sentry bound to his post, you’ve never once heard so much as a whisper.

His words take a moment to register. Across from you, he sits back on his haunches, thick thighs bunched up under the fan of his pteruge. It’s hard to tell how long he’s been there—the hallway outside your cell is relatively dark, the only windows being on the leftmost side of the building, near the door where he must have quietly slipped in. 

“East of here,” you answer hesitantly.

He hums, nods his head. Ruminates on your words. 

In truth, you can only guess—the village where you grew up, where you suckled at your mother’s teat and played with the other children in the glen surrounded by mountains jutting up from the earth and ochre yellow and green wildgrass, the fog sometimes sitting so low in the valley that you could lose yourself in it, is far from here. At least a month’s walk, perhaps more (you lost time along the way). Your feet are still blistered from the march back to Rome, legs still covered in sores and bruises; even now your cell is a poor comfort, the dirt floors harsh on your knees and shins, abrasive to the partially healed skin of your feet. 

You’ve never been very worldly though, never known more than the four walls around your bed. Perhaps the walk wasn’t nearly as long, as treacherous; maybe you came from the west instead, or the south. You can only guess. 

“I came from the north,” he says, breaking the silence again. That startles you somehow. The thought of him under the thumb of another feels inexplicably gut-wrenching; if a man with a virile, sweat-laden chest like his, arms corded with muscle that yours will never see in a thousand years, has been yoked to Rome’s chariot, what hope do you have? 

You wonder for a moment if he’ll tell you more, but he falls silent after that simple revelation. The weight of his gaze still pins you in place.

“…You’re a prisoner then?” you ask, considering briefly whether to say like I, before discarding the thought. Like I, like me. Are you too in a cage, like me?

It’s difficult to suppress the urge to ask him more, but you do. It does you no good to endear yourself to men that move and stare like beasts. There’s something malignant in him, you think, a rot burrowed in deep. You can feel it stir in you too when your eyes dip too low, halted by the muscles of his thighs and the thick slabs packing his arms. You’ve seen beasts copulate; you imagine he’d be much the same. 

He tilts his head, considering your words. Wolf-like, and you’ve seen wolves before. Though the ever-present helmet obstructs most of his face, the sharpness of his eyes pierces through. “They don’t put me in a cage anymore. What would you call that?”

Your chest collapses under his words. Hopes dashed. Does he go in the cage of his own accord then? Does he lock the door himself, deliver the key to the guard standing watch? You think people taken from their homes should see their plight in each other, but the gladiator before you doesn’t look at you like the two of you share a fate. 

“A slave?” you postulate, perhaps too boldly. Worry crawls inside the walls of your belly when his lips flatten, almost imperceptibly.

“Do I look like a slave to you?” he asks, and you can hear it this time. A gentle warning. A rebuke. A question that tells you all that you need to know about this man and how he sees the two of you. 

You remain silent, cowed under his stare and the tone of his voice. Perhaps he’s right, in a way; he’s not the one in the cage. He seems free to come and go as he pleases, his movements unrestricted. Unlike your own. You’ve hardly left this cell once since a faction of the legionaries left you at the gates of the city to be handled by those in charge, watching slave after slave made empticii, helpless, until finally you were dragged to the stand for viewing. 

You flinch when he grabs one of the bars of your cell, thick fingers coiling around the metal and overlapping easily. 

“What did they take you for, pretty bird?” His fingers tighten around the bar, knuckles whitening. “Every day I fight and yet they never offer you as a prize.”

The new scars on his body make sense then, fresh lacerations across his arms and legs that have multiplied by the days since he started visiting you. Why he gleams with fresh sweat every day, correlating with the fights you hear in the arena above you, the cacophonous chants and stamping feet. You can imagine him in front of a crowd frothing at the mouth for blood and gore. 

He comes stained in it sometimes. You hold your breath until he leaves on those days, reminded too much of your village in the aftermath of the plundering. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, tucking your legs into your chest and trying to get as close to the wall behind you as possible. 

It’s the truth. No one tells you anything. No one told you what would happen when they ransacked your village and burnt it to ash, the bodies of everyone you’ve ever loved still burning char black in the tall grass, whittled down by the flames. No one told you what would happen after they dragged you back a thousand passus to a city scorched in white marble and stone and immaculate gold. They dragged you here and shut the door. 

He seems frustrated at your words, lips thinning like he has to hold back his rage.

“I’ll slaughter a hundred more if that’s your price,” he says, his helmet knocking into the bars with a rough clang and making you jump when he leans in. His chest lifts with his quickened breaths, working himself up at the thought of more bloodshed. “Then give you their hearts. No other man will take you. I’ll rend their limbs if another man tries. Make you taste their blood on my fingers and lap it up when I split you on my—”

Your heel skitters across the ground, digging a small groove into the dirt and scattering small rocks across the cell. “I don’t k-know what they intend—”

You stare at him when he rises back up to his feet, words dying on your tongue. Standing, he towers over you, shoulders rolling back to puff out his chest. 

“You wait, little bird. Flutter your wings. Soon you’ll see the sun.”

You can only imagine what he means. The thought of sunlight on your face fills you with dread for the first time in your life. 

He leaves without another word, heavy footsteps carrying him to the door until you hear him pry it open, sunlight streaming in for a second before it slams shut. The silence in the absence of him feels monstrous, gargantuan. 

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath.

[verstappenverse]

Call Me When You Breakup (Role Reversal)

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’re with the wrong person, and Max knows it. So do you. He won’t ask you to leave but he’ll be here, hoping, aching, waiting. Just… call him when you do.

Authors Note: Okay so when I was writing Call Me When You Break Up, I genuinely couldn’t pick whether Max or the reader should be the one in a relationship bc I loved both versions too much, so… I wrote both. Figured I’d share this one too in case you needed a little comfort after the first one! (Spoiler: this one ends has a happier ending, promise 💕)

1.6k words / Inspo / Masterlist

Max knows he's in trouble the moment he sees you with him.

It shouldn’t hurt like this. Shouldn’t feel like something inside him is being wrenched apart, piece by piece. But it does. Because that’s not where you’re supposed to be.

You should be with him.

Instead, you’re laughing at something your boyfriend just said, your hand resting lightly on his arm, and Max feels like he’s suffocating in plain sight.

Because he knows that laugh. He knows your real laugh, the one that starts low in your chest and crinkles the corners of your eyes. This one is polite, forced, paper-thin.

You're fading right in front of him, and he doesn’t know how no one else sees it.

"You’re staring."

Lando’s voice pulls him back to reality, but Max doesn’t bother denying it. What’s the point? Everyone knows. They’ve always known.

Lando follows his gaze across the restaurant, shaking his head. "You really gonna keep doing this to yourself?"

Max exhales sharply, gripping his glass tighter. "What choice do I have?"

Lando scoffs. "I don’t know, maybe tell her how you feel instead of sitting here like some lovesick idiot?"

Max wants to. God, he wants to. He’s rehearsed it a thousand times, in the car, in the shower, in those sleepless hours past midnight when he’s certain no one will hear his heart breaking. But it’s never that simple.

Because you’re in a relationship. One that looks fine from the outside. One that checks boxes. One that convinces everyone… except Max, that you're happy.

But Max knows better.

Because he’s seen the way your boyfriend talks over you when you’re excitedly telling a story. How he interrupts, how he subtly corrects you. How he walks ahead without waiting, and rarely looks back to see if you’re still with him. How he only reaches for your hand when people are watching, when it can be seen, posted, admired.

But still, you stay. And Max doesn’t understand why. Because you were meant for him.

You know it too. He sees it in the way your eyes linger on him a second too long. The way your laughter always falters when he looks at you like this, like he’d burn the world down if you asked him to.

But you never ask.

And Max? He’s stuck waiting.

We’re so meant for each other. When will you wake up.

The words sit heavy in his chest, but he swallows them down. Because as much as he wants to say them, to beg you to choose him, it has to be you.

Call me when you break up.

He thinks it almost every time he sees you. It sits there behind his teeth, aching to be said. A quiet, desperate plea. Because he can’t say it first.

You have to want it. Want him.

Until then, he’ll keep watching from across the room. Holding his breath. And praying that one day, you’ll finally stop pretending.

And come home to him.

It gets worse before it gets better.

Max tries to move on. Tries to shove the feelings down, bury them beneath podium celebrations and mindless distractions. He flirts with women he doesn’t care about, lets them kiss him in the shadows of clubs, lets them wrap themselves around him like temporary bandages, but their lips never feel right.

Because they’re not yours.

You’re the only person who’s ever made him feel like he doesn’t have to win to be worth something.

He tells himself he’s fine. That if he says it enough, he’ll start believing it.

But then he sees you again.

You’re sitting alone in the paddock, scrolling through your phone, and you look exhausted. Not just physically, but in the way that sits deep in your bones. Like you haven’t been happy in a long time.

Max doesn’t think. He just moves.

"Hey."

You glance up, startled, before a slow smile spreads across your face. "Hey, Max."

It’s stupid, how much just hearing his name in your voice makes his chest ache. How his whole world rearranges itself around that one sound.

He sits beside you, close enough that your knees brush. "You okay?"

You hesitate just for a second before nodding. "Yeah. Just tired."

You’re lying. He knows it. You know he knows it, but you don’t elaborate, and Max doesn’t push.

Because this isn’t his place.

Not yet.

So he swallows the things he wants to say. Swallows the part of him that wants to take your face in his hands and ask what happened to the girl who used to give him hell just for fun. The one who could make him laugh with a single raised eyebrow, who used to challenge him just to see if he’d rise to it.

He forces himself to play the part. The best friend. The one who listens but never crosses the line. The one who waits in the background, hoping that one day you’ll finally wake up.

But waiting is hell.

Especially when he sees it clearer than ever that you’re not yourself anymore. Not the girl who used to light up every room, not the girl who used to challenge him on everything just to make him laugh. You’ve gotten quieter. Like the wrong love dimmed your light.

And Max? He wants to be the one who brings it back.

He wants to remind you what it feels like to be loved loudly. To be listened to. To be challenged and adored in equal measure. He wants to be the arms you fall into, not because you’re tired, but because it finally feels safe. He wants to fight with you and for you, and he wants to laugh until you can’t breathe, until your face crumples in that way that only happens when you’re so happy you forget to hold it all in.

The call comes finally at 2 a.m.

Max is half-asleep when his phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with your name. His heart lurches before he even picks up.

"Hello?"

Silence.

Then—

"Can I come over?"

Your voice is raw, like you’ve been crying, and suddenly Max is wide awake.

"Yeah," he says immediately, already sitting up. "Of course."

You don’t offer an explanation. You don’t need to.

Because he already knows.

You show up at his door twenty minutes later, eyes red-rimmed, wearing the same clothes from earlier.

Max doesn’t ask what happened. He just steps aside, letting you in.

You sink onto his couch without a word, pulling your knees to your chest. Max sits beside you, close but not touching. Waiting.

It takes a minute before you finally speak.

"It’s over."

The words send a jolt through his chest, but he keeps his expression careful. "Are you okay?"

"I don’t know." You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I feel like an idiot... I should’ve left a long time ago, but I was scared. Of being alone. Of starting over."

Max swallows hard. "You’re not alone."

Your eyes flick to his, something unreadable swirling in their depths. "I know."

A beat of silence. Then—

“Were you… waiting for this?”

The question slips out of you like a confession, small and uncertain, but it lands like a thunderclap between you.

Max doesn’t blink. Doesn’t deflect with a joke or pretend he didn’t hear. His eyes stay locked on yours, steady and unflinching, like he’s bracing for impact.

“Yeah,” he says, simply. “I was.”

“Max—” you breathe, voice thick and trembling.

But he cuts you off gently, a hand lifting like he’s physically trying to slow the moment down.

“Don’t,” he says softly, eyes searching yours. “Don’t say anything if you don’t mean it, not because you feel guilty, or because you’re hurting, or because I’ve been stupid enough to love you this long.”

“I think part of me always knew,” you continue, blinking hard. “That I was supposed to end up here. That it was always going to be you. But I kept talking myself out of it. Because you were safe. And I didn’t think I deserved safe.”

“You deserve everything,” Max says hoarsely.

You nod, a few tears finally escaping down your cheeks

Max is still watching you like he doesn’t dare breathe, like if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear again.

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t feel what I feel.”

His grip tightens instinctively. “What do you feel?”

You swallow hard, but your voice is clear now. Certain. “I’m in love with you.”

Max exhales like he’s been underwater this whole time and finally broke the surface. His hand rises to cup your jaw, thumb catching a tear before it falls.

“Say it again,” he whispers, eyes shining.

You smile through the tears. “I’m in love with you.”

“I love you too,” he says. “I’ve been yours since the beginning”

And then you’re kissing him.

It’s not perfect. It’s messy, a little desperate. There’s hesitation in the way your lips press to his, like you’re testing the waters of a dream you never let yourself have. But Max doesn’t hesitate.

His hands find your waist, anchoring you to him, pulling you into his lap like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if there’s any distance between you. His fingers slide into your hair, and he kisses you like it’s the only language he’s ever been fluent in.

Like he’s been waiting forever.

You gasp softly into his mouth, and he slows down, gentling it, letting you set the pace. Letting you feel safe. Loved. Wanted.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the small space between you. Your eyes stay closed, your voice barely more than a breath.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Max exhales, brushing your hair back behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten.

“You’re here now,” he says, thumb ghosting across your cheek. “That’s all that matters.”

[femmeftal]

⠀. ּ ֶָ֢⠀⠀⠀₍ ^⠀. .⠀^ ₎⠀⟆⠀ ۟ ❨ ᥍͟𝗍͟𝖺͟𝗋͟𝗌 𝗼𝗯ׂ𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 ❩

۪ ⋆ 𝓅𝒶̄𝗂𝗋𝗌 : mark!variants x reader

𝗁ℯ𝒶𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇 : what each different mark variants are into, and why they are into it.

𝓌𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀s : p links, kink listing, 18+ content

 .’﹙ ℳ𝗈𝗁𝖺𝗐𝗄 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄 ： 𝓅𝖽𝖺 ﹚

mark’s biggest turn on is PDA, the feeling of your soft delicate skin on his just flips a switch in him. mark’s lips are always on yours no matter what time it is or where you two are at, his favorite place that he kisses you is infront of him viltrum empire loving the feeling of eyes on him.

the same hands he had killed thousands with were wrapped around the curve of your throat do softly, applying enough pressure to make your eyes slightly blur. Mark did not want to lose a doll like you he claimed, being do possessive over his little nymph.

Bonus points if mark is able to convince his little blythe to match mohawks with him!! always pressing his forehead to yours and making out with you, his tongue wrapping around yours and sucking. The taste of him wasn’t foreign to you anymore the amount of times he kisses you, which is always..

but during sex is so much more..romantic, loves making you feel like the queen you are even sometimes setting up roses on your shared bed when he wants to have sex with you. his poundings are so ruthless and rough, always managing to pull screams out of your throat ( ♡︎ )

 .’﹙𝓈𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝓂𝖺𝗋𝗄 ： 𝒷𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 ﹚

you need to pray every time you start your cycle, and he knows exactly when too. so when he pops up randomly behind you groping your ass and tits while his bulge is pressed against the curve of your ass, you know EXACTLY what he is here for.

the sloppy wet sounds of your period blood and his saliva mixing together makes you cringe in embarrassment, he had you sprawled out in an abandoned hotel that he hadn’t destroyed just yet.

“fuck - keep these open. “ he was devouring your bleeding cunt like it was going to be his ever last meal, making sure no blood had slid down the cheeks of your ass. he was licking you raw at this point, and even if you tried to run from it he’d give you a harsh slap on your already sensitive pussy.

“ this pusshys mine to eat..mgh fwuck sho good “ mark had a habit of getting drunk off your pussy, always rambling on how if he ever caught you with someone else that person would be dead in a instant. mark always wasn’t a good sharer with his toys. ( ♡︎ )

 .’﹙𝓇𝖾𝗍𝗋𝗈 𝗆𝒶𝗋𝗄 ： 𝗉𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅 ﹚

this mark is so bossy, always telling people about his empire, so its natural that he bosses you around too. just his orders are more.. explicit.

he loves it when you call him king or emperor it boosts his ego so much and he would probably reward you with allowing you to watch him stroke his hardened cock in front of your innocent naive face, his mewls and whimpers bring you to the edge all the time and even if you dare to turn your head away from the scene he is giving you.

he will punish you, slapping his member against you face and probably even smearing in against your facial cheeks. if you cry about how it hurts when he slaps you with his cock he’ll just do it harder next time, smirking at your pathetic cries.

he doesnt just ask for sex, no no no he demands it. he expects you yo be on your knees mouth wide open with your tongue hanging out when he wants his fat cock sucked, and if he wants to fuck you, he better see you in a wide mating press with your small fingers spreading your pussy for him.

retro mark is like those men on broadcasts who claim women have to only do 3 things, and your 3 things are to worship his cock, pleasure him, and give him your lovely attention and he probably has a collar and leash for you too when he is pounding you from the back. ( ♡ )

 .’﹙ℴ𝗆𝗇𝗂 𝓂𝖺𝗋𝗄 ：𝓈𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄 ﹚

i can imagine that this mark is a little bit muscular than the others, always focusing and working out 24/7.

thats why when he is pressed against your body, making you stand on your tippie toes to kiss him, his mind goes extremely blank.

so blank to the fact that his cock is springing back to life, he sometimes wonder how’d you look in a chokehold while being fucked so good bye him.

mark has a big dick, everyone knows that but when he has his member hovering above your stomach to show you how deep he is gonna go your little face panicking just makes his dick jump and bounce against your stomach.

god you’re such a fucking vixen mark thinks, always distracting him when he works out and you just claim “ i wanna help you! “ but your tight yoga clothes say other wise. he wants to take you here and tower over your small frame bending your body into the desired position he’d like. and so he does, he can feel his tip trying to prod open your womb and force itself inside

your eyes were blown wide open, jaw slacked and drool smothered all over your chest and jaw. he loved you like this, destroyed and ruined from other men but him, the way your pussy could only accommodate to him after this would leave you shocked. ( ♡︎ )

[flwrkid14]

Could I request your Tim Doesn't Hold Grudges with a Dead Tired Twist, cuase just imagine he doesn't hold grudges against anyone who wrongs him, but the moment you say something bad about his boyfriend-

Danny does it too but itn reverse, he grudges against everyoen who ever hurt his boyfriend.

And the batfam don't understand why Tim's boyfriend hates them all witha burnign passion

thanks for the ask! and I can totally do that, their dynamic is everything to me! <3

Tim Drake does not hold grudges.

It's not that he forgets—oh, no, Tim has perfect memory when it comes to betrayals, slights, and near-death experiences. He could give you a full PowerPoint presentation on every time someone has wronged him, complete with timestamps and psychological profiles. But does he hold it against someone? Never.

The League of Assassins kidnaps him and tries to brainwash him? Eh, just another Tuesday. The Justice League ignores his warnings about a world-ending threat? Annoying, but whatever, Young Justice have managed on their own. Bruce replaces him without a word? Disappointing, but he’ll manage. Damian tries to murder him again? Tim still sets aside a plate for him at family dinners.

Tim is a firm believer in moving on. He takes his hits, internalizes them, and keeps going. No point in holding onto anger. No point in letting grudges slow him down. If someone screws him over, well—he probably expected it anyway. That’s just how life works, right?

But the moment you insult Danny?

All bets are off.

It’s not even an explosive anger—it’s worse. It’s cold. Calculated. Petty. You say Danny’s a bad influence? Suddenly, every embarrassing piece of information about you is mysteriously public knowledge. You doubt Danny’s skills? Weird, your bank accounts have been flagged for fraud (don’t worry, it’s temporary… probably). You try to slight Danny in any way? Hope you enjoy Gotham’s worst coffee because Tim has blacklisted you from every decent café in the city.

And then there’s Danny, who holds grudges for Tim, and he holds them with the fury of a thousand dying stars. If you so much as look at Tim wrong, Danny will remember it forever. You made Tim cry in third grade? Cool. Danny’s counting down for the day karma comes knocking. You ever doubted Tim’s capabilities? That’s fine—Danny’s just going to glare daggers at you until you feel physically uncomfortable in your own skin.

Now enter the batfamily, who are so confused because Tim is still as calm and forgiving as ever, but his boyfriend? His boyfriend hates them.

Damian: "Why does your boyfriend keep glaring at me?" Tim: "I have no idea." Danny: "I have a few ideas."

Jason: "I swear your boyfriend wants me dead." Tim: "I mean… you did shoot me." Danny: "Oh, don’t downplay it—HE PUT A BULLET IN YOUR CHEST."

Dick: "I don’t get it, I was trying to be friendly." Danny: "Remember all the times you made Tim cry? Yeah, well I do."

Bruce, exhausted: "What do I have to do for your boyfriend to stop glaring at me?" Danny: "You exist, that's already beyond unforgivable."

Meanwhile, Tim thinks this is all hilarious and has no intention of stopping Danny. He just sips his coffee and enjoys the show (and basks in all of Danny's love, obviously).